You know... THAT thing. The thing that keeps following you around. The thing you keep telling yourself you’ll get to next week or next month or next year… when life finally calms down a little bit. And somehow it keeps landing back in the “I promise myself I’ll get to it” pile.

Maybe it’s something others would barely notice. Or maybe it’s something you’ve made bigger in your own head than it needs to be. Either way, it’s still yours to lean into. What’s that thing for you?

For me, it’s getting my music degree. It’s been sitting half-finished for years, close enough to smell the finish line, too far to cross it. Having fulfilled all the requirements for dance and music and theater, I still had those GE courses standing between me and done. A few weeks ago I finally registered... navigating which classes I still needed and which ones I could still get into took a minute, but I did it. Then I looked at my backpack, my go-to bag for every gig, and started making room in it for notebooks alongside the setlists.

So next week, I’m heading back to school. I’m buzzing like a teenager who just got her driver’s permit. I’ve been cleaning and reorganizing my desk to make room for a whole new chapter, and I spent real time setting up Quizlet so it’s ready for me the moment I start, carving out strict study hours in my day. I’m taking psychology, communication, statistics (say a prayer for me, ha)... and the one that’s just for me... a Piano theory course.

The other day I wasn’t in the best mood, I’d forced myself into midday traffic just to go sort out a few things with my counselor. But the moment I stepped onto campus, the first thing I saw was five students rehearsing a jazz piece. As they finished, another group started up not far away, then a third... each one taking their turn. Watching those kids at work, my mood just shifted. That’s what I’m looking forward to. Every day, more of that.

Equal parts nervous and exhilarated, because this is that thing. Okay, to be honest, it’s ONE of those things... there’s never just one... but this thing, I’m doing it.

What’s your thing? What’s still sitting in that “I’ll get to it” pile?

Whatever it is... go. Do. The thing.

Sometimes you put something on the back burner, and that back burner just keeps getting pushed further and further back. That’s what happened with my music degree. I mean, yeah, I’ve had a bunch of dance music hits, I was signed to Warner Brothers, I’ve put out three rock records, and I’ve lost count of the dance records — so it’s not like I put music on the back burner. But I’ve always wanted my music degree.

Well, college, here I come.

My ever-increasing, almost obsessive interest in neuroscience and psychology is another driver. I gleefully completed the necessary credits for drama, music, and dance several years ago — many times over. What’s left are the GE courses: statistics, botany, communication, psychology.

Am I a little nervous about navigating time? Hell yes. My calendar’s already stacked with shows, which means high heels, lashes, and airports. I’m also working on music for film and TV, doing vocal sessions, and recording quite a bit in my studio. I believe I slept a little a couple of nights ago. I’m still negotiating with myself about how to allot more time for sleep, because those neural pathways need time to consolidate, reorganize, and strengthen.

But I’m excited. Wish me luck, everyone.

I’m writing all this because I honestly just want to encourage everyone to do what’s in their heart. It doesn’t matter how long you put it off. It matters that you still want it. If it’s your desire, find a way to do it.

Just because something is scary doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. Pushing the limits of who we think we can be is exactly how we keep growing. We should never stop challenging the boundaries we’ve placed around ourselves.

As I’ve been dipping my toes in lectures on neuroscience, I’ve discovered that the adult brain remains capable of neuroplasticity throughout our lives, but it takes intentionally engaging with new and challenging experiences to access it. Dr. Andrew Huberman describes “agitation and strain” as the entry point to neuroplasticity. That’s the brain’s ability to change and reorganize its neural connections in response to what we experience and learn. Learning something new, taking on something difficult, pushing past what feels comfortable — that’s what can actually improve the way our brains work.

Don’t let the back burner mindset put up an impenetrable wall.

And if you’re the one who put the wall up... you get to choose. Walk around it. Take it down brick by brick.

I chose eviscerate. It was blocking my view.

This time last year, I met someone who gently reintroduced me to my dreams.

Not the dreams I’ve had while I was awake. Big ideas. Big plans. Big, soul-stretching visions for my life. I’m talking about the dreams that naturally unfold after you close your eyes.

For as long as I can remember, I believed I just didn’t dream. Or if I did, I never remembered them.

“Hey… that’s just who I am.”

Except it wasn’t. It was simply a story I’d been accepting as truth.

Funny how we do that. Somewhere along the way, a repeated thought becomes a belief. A belief becomes an identity. And before we know it, we’re living in a house we never consciously designed. The walls, painted colors passed down from others. Never realizing we were allowed to set aside inherited imaginings and choose for ourselves what lives on the walls inside the home we call our mind.

When I was a little girl, I had the same nightmare over and over again. There was an ugly old, big bad wolf that lived in the upper left corner of my bedroom. I can still see exactly where he was. A ferocious beast with ridiculously oversized teeth. I knew he was waiting for me the second I drifted off to sleep.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped expecting sleep to be a place of adventure and settled for simply getting through the night.

Neville Goddard taught that we become the stories we assume to be true. Dr. Joe Dispenza talks about rewiring the brain and stepping beyond old patterns. Different language. Same invitation.

I’m incredibly grateful that I was invited to consider that maybe… just maybe… I wasn’t only having wonderfully vivid dreams, but that I could… actually… remember them. Wait! What? What a fabulous concept. And that I might even be able to adjust them a bit as I went.

A little magic disguised as permission.

A couple of breathing exercises. My barely legible scribbles in a notebook by the bed. A healthy dose of curiosity.

And the dreams… they came back.

Or maybe they never left.

Now, when I drift off to sleep, sometimes I get to meet a magnificent blue dragon. He’s a little goofy. He’s always incredibly wise and a fierce protector. Sometimes I interact with an ancient wise woman. A bit scornful, but also protective. Other times I have wonderfully ordinary conversations with complete strangers.

And now every night feels like opening a different door.

But alas, Dear Reader… a few months ago, the big bad wolf came back. Upper left corner of my bedroom. Exactly where he’d always been when I was a little girl. I looked right at him in my dream and said, “Leave!” And you know what… he did. The wolf disappeared because I stopped giving him authority.

So… how does reconnecting with my dreams make me feel more aware and connected during the day? Because the subconscious never really sleeps. Neuroscience continues to show us that while we’re asleep, our brains are processing memories, emotions, and experiences. It only makes sense that paying attention to those dreams would change how I move through my waking life.

We all have these stories we’ve been accepting as truth that were never true in the first place. So… question them all.

The dragon lives behind the door.

The wolf lived behind the door too.

But now… the wolf no longer owns the room.

I have spent most of my life being the one who didn’t quite look like everyone else in the room. Not really by accident… somewhat by design — though I wouldn’t call it that, either. I just kept following what felt the most…alive.

It started with headphones.

As a little mulatta girl (hey, that’s the term people in my neighborhood used) — me and my pink ruffled canopy bed, (OK, honestly it wasn’t just the canopy bed. My dresses were pink. My shoes were pink. My hair barrettes were pink. I had dolls with pink clothing. You get the picture. I really liked pink) — and — I really loved rock ‘n’ roll from the first guitar chord I ever heard!

My TEAC reel-to-reel sat right in the middle of my room. First thing you saw when you opened the door. That’s where all my music lived. That’s where I lived.

Those miraculous headphones were my sanctuary. My exhale. Because on the other side of the door was Jimmy — my father. And the sound of his boots on our hardwood floors… you never knew. Those boots could signal the weather about to drastically change. In the house. In my chest. In my breathing. When things got loud, I got quiet. The inescapable weight of the waiting. I put on the headphones and disappeared. If I couldn’t hear whether the boots were coming closer… I could pretend there were no boots at all.

In that disappeared place — that’s where Bowie found me.

The first song I can physically recall hearing was Five Years. My nine-year-old ears were awestruck. Something about the timing — the way the words tumbled and stacked upon each other, urgent, like the story was running out of time.

His penetrating voice came through like something from another world entirely.

And here’s the thing — I didn’t really understand David Bowie. Did any of us? He was an enigma. A gloriously gender-bending, otherworldly… creature — existing in human form, presumably. Somehow building an entire life out of being exactly himself. You didn’t have to make sense of him. You just had to… receive him. And what I received, surrounded by an avalanche of pink, with those magical headphones on, was this: he seemed so odd and yet — so free.

Something clicked into place in my little nine-year-old pink canopy brain.

If this weirdo can be happy, so can I.

I didn’t know then that I was forming a life philosophy. I thought I was just surviving a Tuesday.

The path from the land of the pink canopy bed to a stage with Rod Stewart is not a straight line. But that’s a story for a whole other chapter.

While singing backup for Rod Stewart, I became friends with the almost embarrassingly talented but always funny and kind Carmine Rojas — David Bowie’s & Rod Stewart’s bassist & Music Director, the man who wrote the bassline for Let’s Dance. Carmine and I are clearly cut from some similar cloth. We’ve remained good friends ever since.

So when the call came about performing with Mike Garson — David Bowie’s pianist for forty years — alongside Carmine… PS, I had 24 hours to learn 13 songs. Luckily I’m such a David Bowie aficionado that it was more joy than panic. And now we're heading into our third show together. That little girl sitting in her Beverly Hills bedroom was already manifesting — she just didn't have the word for it yet.

That little half-Irish, half-Nigerian girl — I’ll circle back to that at some point — the same one who dressed up as Alice Cooper on Halloween while all the other little rich girls were princesses… that mocha-skinned little baby girl held onto her weird. Because turns out being weird is just being yourself. In a world hell-bent on sameness, being truly yourself has become a revolutionary act.

So embrace your inner weirdo. Because existing outside the box isn’t always easy — sometimes it’s a struggle. Sometimes it’s a battle. But shattering those boxes is exactly how we see ourselves in each other. That’s where the kindred humanity lives. That’s where surviving turns into thriving. That’s where the party is.

This message was approved by my pink-laced, Alice Cooper-black-leather-wearing nine-year-old self.

SOKA Theater • Singing David Bowie’s “Five Years”

Mike Garson’s Bowie Celebration

PS: I’ll have the joy of performing with Mike Garson & Carmine Rojas again on June 6 at The Broad Stage in Santa Monica.

The Unity Sound Project is a live-music initiative of the Purple Movement Foundation, a California-based 501(c)(3) nonprofit dedicated to using music, creativity, and community-driven initiatives to foster connection, resilience, and social impact.

Why our first Unity Sound Project is inspired by new research on phones, play, and an increasingly anxious generation.

The Unity Sound Project uses sound, story, and performance to support social justice and educational work over time. Each Unity Sound event uplifts a specific cause or partner, grounded in the belief that music can reconnect us to ourselves, to one another, and to the communities we’re trying to heal.

This work is inspired by the research of psychologist Jonathan Haidt, author of The Anxious Generation, and developmental psychologist Peter Gray, whose studies explore the shift from play-based childhoods to phone-based ones and its impact on emotional development and resilience.

For most of human history, children wired their brains through active, often unsupervised play. That wasn’t just playtime. It was how resilience was built.

In what Haidt calls the “Great Rewiring,” smartphones and social media have pulled much of that developmental wiring onto a screen. Fast rewards have replaced real-world empathy, collaboration, courage, and creative problem-solving. Gray’s research on free play and antifragility reminds us that humans need challenge and experimentation to grow strong.

The first Unity Sound Project event, happening this April, responds to that reality by raising funds to place real instruments into the hands of kids in under-resourced schools and supporting programs that return them to tactile, collaborative creativity.

Future Unity Sound events will support partners across education, mental health, re-entry, arts access, and social justice. This first chapter is rooted in one insight: when we remove real-world play and embodied creativity, we make people, especially kids, more anxious and less free.

Unity Sound is both a metaphor and a mechanism. Different voices, one groove. A phone-down, presence-forward stage where live music becomes real-world impact.

I began the Unity Sound Project to explore how live music can help reconnect people to each other and to the communities they care about.

Save-the-date details for our first Unity Sound Project event, taking place this April, will be shared soon

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It’s been a while since I sat down to write or share my usual, “come on y’all, we got this” kinda post.

I’ve been looking for some sort of divine inspiration or obvious guidance. I have been — just… waiting. My discovery? That mystical, magical hand pointing me in the right direction & depositing the exact right words onto the proverbial page - never appeared.

Cuz it was never gone in the first place. The noise of EVERYTHING devastatingly wrong, just drowned out the sounds of possibility & hope & the “there IS something I can do” feeling.

This perfection we’re seeking, this human need to do BIG things or nothing at all, those are all made in the dark parts of our psyche. Sneaky little fear goblins that scratch away at our child-like beliefs. Not child-ish. Child-like.

It’s easy to stare for hours/days/months/years — at the atrocities & become absolutely frozen.

So, it’s ok to keep it small. Keep it simple.
Keep your body healthy. Call a friend you know might need a few words of encouragement. Meditate. Give yourself a day or a week without digesting the news. Not to “check out” — to check in with you. To remember what excites your heart and where your kindness or smile or physical presence could make a difference.

Finally filed my articles of incorporation for my foundation a couple of days ago. NO idea why I waited so long. I will be starting small.

But, the starting — feels so damn good.

Start.

Life doesn’t always call for a big change. Sometimes it just asks for a small recalibration. A moment to pause, breathe, and look at things from a slightly different angle.

There are so many ways to see the same moment, and sometimes all it takes is a quiet shift in perspective to notice new possibilities. What once felt heavy or complicated can start to feel lighter and more natural when you give it a little space.

Recalibrating is simply realigning — coming back into balance so things flow with more ease. When we take that small step back and adjust our view, the path ahead often feels clearer, softer, and a little happier.

Just a gentle reminder. Such a simple tool, so often forgotten, yet so powerful.

Take a breath, shift a little, and let ease find you.

I hate the word hate. Yes, I know… that’s like saying I don’t like chocolate while eating a brownie.

But here’s the thing: what I really do hate is this feeling of being stuck. Not writing. Not sharing. Waiting and hoping to harness every last drop of positivity before daring to put words on a page. Cuz you know, that’s my thing. The positivity diva. Yes, I said diva, deal with it. Ha!

The actual truth, though? I’m tired of waiting.

Like so many right now, my spirit is exhaustingly conflicted. Suspended somewhere between MLK zones of hope and the velvet-draped apathy of Louis XVI… and, if I’m honest, abject fear of speaking too late, or not at all.

How do you, when do you, where do you, stand up? Tall and defiantly pulsing with an almost rage-filled rant of love (yeah, I know… paradox city ova here). But that kind of aggressive positivity is abundantly needed, in my humble opinion… right now, and maybe always.

My roots stretch in two directions, through Irish ancestors with their resilience and Nigerian ancestors with their enduring spirit. Both carried an undying strength to survive impossible odds. They had to. What is the alternative, really?

To acquiesce to complacency and passive acceptance seems almost criminal.

Still, the spirit needs recharging breaks and time with your tribe to celebrate easy breaths, strong heartbeats, messy sex, belly laughter, good food, the wild freedom of children and animals, music that shakes your bones, quiet sunsets, and suns… just… rising.

Then jump up, stomp your feet, clap your hands, and hold tight as you summon justice and peace for all.

This is not a time for silence. But it doesn’t mean you need to scream from the proverbial roof or mountain tops all damn day! We can each find our own unique ways to be part of making things go right, or better, or kinder, or easier for your soul & others.

So get quiet first. Gather your ancestors’ fiercely tenacious resolve, and let it steady you.

And most of all, don’t wait for the perfect hope to arrive before you begin. Begin now. With what you have. With who you are.

Because what you have, and who you are, is enough. It always has been. Don’t let the noise of the world drown that truth out.

Take your joy with you. Take your rage-filled love with you. Take your ancestors with you. And step forward.

The world doesn’t need a flawless you. It needs the real you, and the real me, steady, imperfect, alive, and unafraid to care out loud.

With our versions of a compassionate battle cry. We can whisper it, sing it, shout it, paint it, write it, learn it, teach it, and lead it. Make it yours. And make it heard.

Because history… is listening.

Be more dragon.

And when I do see it, or feel it, it sends me back to the people who changed my life with theirs.
If you read my last piece here on Substack, you’ll remember one of them - a man named Rosie Greer. Rosie was, and is (though I haven’t seen him in a while), the kind of person whose presence can quiet a room before he even speaks.

He saved my life twice. The first time, I was still a kid. The second time, I was seventeen.

I had just left Santa Maria, California, and the apartment I’d been sharing with Betty, my faux mother. (At sixteen, I found out she wasn’t my birth mother, which was oddly a relief as I’d never quite understood why our connection was so… absent.) That’s a whole nutha story for a whole nutha time.

What matters here is that I couldn’t stay. Her chosen lifestyle and my need for some kind of future didn’t mix. So I scraped together a Greyhound bus ticket, said goodbye to my friends at Hancock College, picked up my Ovation guitar case, and headed to Los Angeles.

What I found wasn’t exactly a better situation. And so I did what I somehow knew I could do: I called Rosie.

He didn’t ask for details. He just showed up where I was, took me to Howard’s Weekly Apartments in Hollywood, and paid for sixty days. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have a car. But Rosie gave me sixty days to figure it out.

Looking back, I think he might have even slipped the security guard some extra cash. I always felt protected there in a way I can’t fully explain; the kind of protection that doesn’t just keep you safe from trouble, it lets you sleep at night without that gnawing edge in your chest.

In those sixty days, I found not one, but two jobs. I bought a car (a 1966 Chevy Impala, part car/part tank – oh, how I loved that thing.) And I never needed another penny from Rosie.

What he gave me was more than rent. He gave me safety, time, and maybe most importantly, the belief that I could do it. That I was worth helping.

I wonder if Rosie knows how much he changed my life. How far his kindness has rippled. How it’s still with me, shaping how I move through the world.

And maybe that’s why, in a time when the seemingly endless and devastating news cycle spits out stories of wars, disasters, and a level of sickness both political and physical that feels impossible to process, I keep circling back to kindness.

Because sometimes the only way to navigate days like these is to shrink the lens. To break it down to the smallest, most human nucleus: a single act of care.

So while you’re out and about in the world, com­mingling with other humans — at the store, on the road, in line for your morning coffee — take that breath. Maybe even spend a moment considering where a little extra kindness might work out, not just for the receiver, but for you.

Let that car merge in front of you on the freeway without the I-hope-you-know-I’m-doing-you-a-favor face. Let the man behind you at the market with only one lonely carton of milk go ahead of your overflowing cart. Smile at the woman walking her dog and actually mean it. Hold the elevator for someone rushing toward it. Donate that five, ten, fifteen - or a hundred, or a thousand - if you have it to spare, to an organization you know is doing good on this messy, beautiful planet.

And please, please do not forget to include yourself in the kindness loop. You deserve the warm glow of that boomerang of softness, too. Treat yourself gently. Give yourself the grace you hand out so freely to others. Sometimes that’s the hardest kindness to practice… and the most necessary.

A better day, for even one person, has a way of catching on. It quietly passes forward. It multiplies. And whether we see it happen or not, we feel it. We live with it. We carry it into the next thing we do.

So remember the tiny kindness loop.
In my humble, heartfelt opinion - kindness has a boomerang soul.
Respect it well.

Admittedly, my first reaction was equal parts hurt, softly defensive, and in agreement. As a fully grown woman, that's always a conundrum and a mind-bender. I think about the songs I've written — and more importantly, the emails, messages, comments, etc., that I’ve received from people who thanked me for being exactly that: nice. Or for giving them hope through a lyric or even a comment on a dark day.

On the other hand, it's exactly that piece of my personality that has most likely been the culprit of holding me back in many situations I imagined playing out on a larger, more empowered scale. Even loftier.

After we parted, I spent most of the night and a piece of this morning reflecting on how my life would be different were I not so damn nice.

But don't get me wrong, I can most definitely be a bitch when the situation calls for it. But my natural inclination is empathy.

So looking back, yes — there are times that had I been a bit tougher (OK, a lot tougher), I would reside in a completely different space in this world.

Still, far more memories exist in my soul of when someone thanked me for my kindnesses. I am here because of kindness — the kindness of people who stopped and saw me.

Helen, “the helper” as they called her at my first school — Select Academy for Little Folk. A private school with 10 people (six girls and four boys) in the graduating sixth-grade class. Helen saw what I was going through at home. She saw my mother's black eyes. She saw my fear and slumped shoulders while the other kids played and I sat inside.

So she took me aside one day and gave me her phone number, written on a random piece of school paper. And she said — whispered in that low, rooted tone only an older Black woman can summon, like a prayer passed down from the women before her — “I want you to know, you use this number anytime, day or night. The phone is by our bed. My husband knows I'm giving this to you, so no matter who answers and no matter where you are, we will come get you.”

I remember that moment like it was just 30 seconds ago. That kindness has shaped me. It was the first time my shaky nine-year-old self felt that the world could actually be kind.

And she wasn't the only one.

When my father had loaded every gun, rifle, and shotgun — even the sawed-off one — in our house, and no one could get him to disarm, Rosie Greer showed up. My father loved him so much. He respected him. And honestly, I think he respected Rosie’s kindness.

Even when the police showed up, there was nothing they could do. All the guns were inside the home, and every single one of them was registered. (OK, I’m pretty sure he hid the sawed-off shotgun.)

Rosie — with his low, smooth voice, you know the kind that sounds like velvety gravel — put his part-defensive-lineman, part-needlepoint hand on my father’s back. (Yes, that Rosie Greer. Look him up if you don’t know — NFL powerhouse, actor, and legendary soft soul with a side hustle in embroidery.) He led my father into a different room to negotiate not only the unloading of all the guns, but somehow managed to coax him into putting every single one — even his prized Colt .45 — in the garage. Not at the dinner table. Not next to him while we watched TV. But out of sight.

Not at the dinner table. Not next to him while we watched TV. But out of sight.

Both Helen and Rosie were thoughtful and gentle, and stopped what they were doing to notice someone else's life. My life.

Rosie ended up helping me in the most generous of ways once again when I was 17 — but that's a story for another time.

Still, after all of this, the conversation stayed with me — and she did, and still does, have a point.

I could and can stand to be a little tougher here and there. A little more armor. And truthfully, I've been pretty tough on myself when I failed to be more of a diva.

Not “diva” as in let me just be mean to you — a diva as in proud, and knowing my own worth. A remnant of my childhood, I am certain.

So I am very grateful for her comments, because they made me re-examine how I feel about my own niceness.

We go through our lives — and especially as we get older — thinking we know exactly who we are. Yet there are edges that can be smoothed, and talons that might need the occasional sharpening.

Reconstructing the previously constructed. Not a deconstruction — more of a once-over.

No need to rip ourselves apart, but it's OK to say: Hey, you know, it might be all right to put my shield up here and there.

But in this crazy contraption of a world, there are plenty of voices with spite and criticism. And we need that. We need the critics and the finger-pointers. They serve a vital part in our society.

But the pep in my step comes from seeing someone smile and knowing their day might’ve been lighter for that 10 seconds.

Those smile moments multiply like interest in the bank— and every fiber of me feels they matter.

It saves lives. Smiles stacked on smiles, stacked on hugs, stacked on grace.

So I might check in my closet for that bejeweled suit of armor, dust it off, and slide into it more often — when I step out in the world.

But I'm also going to be unabashedly grateful for the Helens and the Rosies of the world. My resilience was built from it.

I'm smiling right now because what a gift — to have had the opportunity to hear her thoughts, reflect on them, and decide I'm OK being me.

And even as I end this — that’s my point for everyone who might read this.

Those pesky, gnat-like voices buzzing around in our thought processes telling us what we should’ve done or could’ve done can truly make you mad.

So maybe spend a moment just thinking about the things you really, really dig about yourself.

Ha! Smiled when I said that.

Yes — said that because I’m talking into my MacBook Air as I’m writing this. I’m a horrible typist, but who cares?

I’m also kind.
And to me — that’s nice.

Remember that time when:

You heard your own perspective, loud and clear. And you knew they were your thoughts, because they weren’t constantly run over and inundated by other people’s brain chatter. (I have enough of my own thank you very much!)
Sure, some of what you heard was ridiculous! But you could hear yourself — meaning you had a chance to work it all out in your own head before somebody else came along on a social media thread to tell you what you could be or should be thinking.

You read great authors instead of the words of somebody you don’t know — and probably would not know — in the real world.

You weren’t trying out your ideas on strangers out there in Nowhere Land, hoping to get their likes and loves.
You just did a thing — for better or worse — to see how it went.
You used your own judgment, and your own failings or flyings, to determine your next steps.

You didn’t respond to a damn laugh emoji on social media — because they rarely occurred.
Nowadays, they happen all the time, even on serious topics.
Then you go look at that so-called person’s page, only to find out they’re not even real.
Some kind of bot, bought and paid for to waste your time and make you feel insignificant and insecure.

You did more with your time because you gave less of it away for free to fools.

What am I trying to say?

I’m trying to say: do your thing.
Stand up for something.
Don’t let the little fake minions (or the real ones) steal your precious time.
Don’t be walking around acting like you don’t have limited time.
You do have limited time.
We all do.

Yeah yeah, we hear the “life is short” quote all the time.
But are you living that way?
Are you living as much as you can?
Are you appreciating everything you can?
Are you stepping out of your front door knowing nothing is promised?

Remember that time when you were excited to see what the day could unfold?
If you do not feel that way — it’s up to you to change that.

Stop wasting your time with people that don’t actually move your life forward.

Yes, I’m talking about social media.
Yes, I am guilty of it too.
So I’m scolding myself — and just letting you in on the ride.

Get out there and live your damn life.
Care for those who love you back.
Create something.

Remember that time — when you did?

One of the brightest minds I’ve ever known and had the pleasure to work with for years went overseas for work—and has decided not to return. As a trans woman, she knows it’s no longer safe for her, her wife, and their child here. Just one example of our country losing one of its most brilliant people—along with her wife, who holds several PhDs.

And don’t even get me started on Social Security, releasing 1/6ers, the stock market, and SignalGate.

And… that’s only a fraction of the ongoing issues.

I’m angry, or sad, or just… frustrated. A lot. It’s hard to know where to start to help while maintaining my own livelihood. I mean, I’m a singer/songwriter—I gotta sing, I gotta write. But my energy and focus are constantly distracted… as they should be.

What to do?

Stay strong. Stay lifted. Don’t let them divide us.
Call a friend who might need a shoulder or ears to express their fears or sadness.
VOTE in the upcoming elections in Wisconsin & Florida (two important congressional races).
Donate where you can—time or money, they both matter.

There is still a whole lotta good going on. It’s not always easy to see at first look.

But, it’s there. Be a voice for love, respect, kindness, and fairness.

That’s my plan.

Anyways. Don’t get sucked in to arguing with someone online. If this isn’t a person that you’d sit down and have dinner with or even have a cup of coffee with they’re not in your life. And listen, I am not just talking about y’all. I just did it myself even though I said I would not. There are so many other things to focus on. The only way to get through any of the negativity is to focus on the good stuff going on. And if we look around, there is good stuff going on. There are people helping other people. There are children laughing, and dogs playing and cats meowing, y’all!

Find the joy. And spread that. There is strength in that joy.

There is no strength in bickering with some fool you don’t even know or don’t want to know. You’d be better off calling a friend and laughing about something that happened. Or sharing your fears with them so they can strengthen you instead of cutting you down or laughing at your beliefs. I didn’t mean for this to be this long but you know I’m doing that talking into the phone thing so I’m just going on this roll. Love yourself enough to put your time where it matters. Our time on this earth is not infinite. So let’s spend it wisely. And I know for sure I will need to keep reminding myself of all of this quite a bit. Now please — go hug somebody or hug yourself.

Quick addendum: but let me be clear I will always stand up for all human rights. ALL! But just in places where it might actually make a difference. Not over on FB!

So, I went out and spent some time helping a few organizations that are on the ground, doing what they can to help those who have lost everything. That definitely helped reset my spirit. The following is a small part of what I’ve been feeling:

Sometimes it seems like no matter what a person does — Black, white, gay, straight, tall, short, tiny, or voluptuous — it just doesn’t matter to some people. They’re determined to find fault.

It’s not an abundant way to live or breathe. We’ve become such a society of social terrorism. What has happened to gratitude?

This ongoing, unconscious, knee-jerk reaction to find something nasty to say has become far too much a part of everyday communication.

Let’s remember: whatever you’re feeling in your he

art toward someone is what you’re carrying in your own body and mind. It rarely ever touches them.

Let’s not drown ourselves in this heavy, dark behavior — suffocated by the need to find, or even create, flaws while overlooking opportunities to feel gratitude.

Let’s take that negative flow and turn it into something kind — even if it’s for selfish reasons. A softness in our hearts is simply better for our spirits. So, y’all please. Be Selfish. Do better & feel better.

Today I have a head cold. Decided to let myself rest for a change. Thought I would take a stroll through social media and get my mind off of my sore throat - big mistake. Social media made me feel worse. Don't get me wrong - we all need to share how we feel so we don't feel alone. But too much time scrolling through other peoples' fears, other peoples' grief, and other peoples' opinions can make it pretty difficult to decipher what's really going on - with you. Am I sad or feeling defeated because of my sore throat cuz I can't get back to singing, or am I feeling sad and defeated because I just read some horrible predictions about 2025? It's quite possible that many of these horrible outcomes could indeed come to fruition. Feeling doom and gloom, however, will not make us stronger or more prepared for the proverbial battle.

Remember when? Way back in the day (some of you super youngins’ may have zero clue of which I speak, er … write) – but there was a time when the thoughts in my head were mostly mine. Yes, I realize I just made a rhyme. I'm a songwriter; sorry, can't help it. I do feel like I used to be a happier person. Sure, with age and loss of friends and overcoming this illness or that, life can become more serious. But I also think a big part of it is that back in the good old days, I only saw the world right in front of me. Now, before you start thinking that I mean "pull the curtains, ignore the world" – I do not mean that. I do mean that protecting our own psyche from too much perceived distress can actually increase - the possibility of our own capacity to be happier.

So I stopped scrolling. Don't get me wrong, I'll probably wander around in virtual land again in a few hours, but while I'm recuperating and wanting to feel better, but not wanting to think too much because my brain hurts from this head cold – I've decided to watch a funny movie or sleep. Or listen to a positive podcast because my eyes don't feel like focusing on a book right now.

It's really easy to be angry. It's contagious. It's really easy to be sad and feel marginalized because, let's face it - so many in this world are. But if we are going to be better humans and create better experiences for ourselves and those around us (and hell, for the entire world) - let's please, remember when.

When we laughed with the people we love. When we laughed at ourselves for our own mistakes and imperfections. When we cared more about our own mental health than how many likes or shares or follows existed on some social media app in a world full of mostly strangers & acquaintances.

Remember when we created MORE - actual things? A handmade gift for a friend. A DIY project you've been putting off. That book you know you have inside you and you still want to write. That song with that catchy hook, you know is good. That friend you keep saying you’re going to reach out to and do that breaking of bread thing.

Recently, I went to Idyllwild, California for the first time. Cell service was extremely spotty. What a piece of bliss it was - just trees and silence. I could hear MY actual thoughts. Turns out the voice in my own head is a pretty happy one.

Remember when? Well, the good old days still exist, y’all. We just have to cultivate them for ourselves. step back more often. Call and see our actual friends, more often. Find the things that feed your Soul and do them, more often. As Ron Finley (The Gangsta Gardener) would say, "Plant some shit."

We do the same dance with mental chatter: little boxes filled with prior conversations, things we should have done, and those “Damn, I wish I woulda’s.” Mental garbage stuffed away in the recesses of our spirits takes up all that space, once again leaving little room to place new, usable, and actionable thoughts in those life-changing spaces.

The potential butterfly effect of these seemingly trivial actions is a beautiful unknown but, I believe, highly worth the effort. So here’s to emptying those boxes, freeing up some space, and making room for the unknown—and our own personal, positive butterfly-effect journey.

In other words—let. some. thangs. GO!

For years now, I have preached vehemently to others to take care of themselves. My email signature even includes “Be good to you.” Taking my own advice, however—well, that doesn’t always happen. Without self-care, it is truly difficult to care for others.

Self-care means something different to everyone. For me, it’s about keeping a watchful eye on self-talk—those pesky mental gremlins gnawing away at self-confidence and an easy spirit, slinking in the shadows. They affect our behaviors, stifle forgiveness (for ourselves and others), and dim our light.

Expose them to the light and let them take a distant backseat, so your true and much-needed shine can lead the way.

So, on this day of thanks, let’s be sure to include ourselves. The potatoes might not be perfect. Your turkey—or Tofurkey, as the case may be—might be a little dry. That one relative who always has to talk politics just had their fourth martini. Or maybe today is a quiet, wonderful day spent with yourself.

However your day is shaping up, please remember to give thanks to you: for the grace to be imperfect, for the courage to keep trying, and for the beauty of being a deliciously, beautifully flawed human. Giving thanks to yourself isn’t selfish; it’s necessary, and it’s powerful.

After all, the greatest gift you can give to your friends & family is a whole and cared-for you.

Thank you for being a part of this journey. I'm excited to share my thoughts, music, and experiences with you here on Substack. If you're no longer interested in receiving these updates, you can easily unsubscribe at any time using the link at the bottom of this email.

Now, let's “dive on in”!

You're Gonna Be Alright

Two days ago, I shared a post of me singing the words “You're Gonna Be Alright,” a cappella. Link to Youtube Short below. I was not prepared for the overwhelming responses. Clearly, people needed to hear those words. Turns out I needed to sing them to myself, too—and out into the world.

I am seeing so much fear: sadness, frustration, anxiety. These feelings have manifested especially since Covid, when we were all so isolated from one another. Sitting in these feelings has become an epidemic. When I create and share positivity, it will 100% be reciprocated in some form, in some way, from someone, somewhere.

So Substack tells me that I should be writing with clarity about what I intend to share here. Well folks, I don't wanna lie—I’m not quite sure yet. My intention is to share: thoughts on positivity and how to stay motivated (this is honestly something I've been wanting to do for quite some time but recent events have inspired me all the more), travel photos and funny things that happen along the way, music and updates on not just my music but music from around the world. And if I may be super kinda bold, suggesting that you do the same. Share your thoughts. Share your life. Get on out there. Don't let the echo chamber of your mind keep you stuck in a loop.

“You're Gonna Be Alright” : 38 Seconds of Musical Comfort