Hi, I’m Shelley and this is my Substack, Excelsior.

For the past decade+, Instagram has been the default landing page for my thoughts and my stories. My friends and family commented so frequently on my long, narrative words that I eventually added the tagline “forever storytelling in the captions” to my bio as a warning to all who braved the depths of my captions. I once thought about printing every one of my posts along with their paragraphs, so I would have a photo book outlining the trajectory of my inner world and outer adventures, spanning life on both coasts. Maybe, someday, I’ll add those to my bookshelves for dinner party guests to peruse.

If even these few photos could talk, they would share with you a constellation of tales, uniting my life through time and place, and usually with a sweet treat. My goodness, how much I’ve shared there. A life-defining move (anyone who has left NYC knows!) to California after nine years living in Manhattan! Then back again to the East Coast, in an attempt to escape city grind life after 14 years across LA, NYC, and SF—first to Nashville in 2018, before finally landing in Atlanta for more urban culture in 2020. In those captions, I’ve shared profound loss, career successes, solo travels, dating after a 10-year hiatus, coming out, falling in love (however briefly <3), microjoys of a rooted life, and the steady, unhurried work of finding bits of myself through it all.

Through the sharing of my heart in Instagram writing, I’ve amassed what I call a spiderweb of support—followers who became friends, and a community who genuinely cared. So many of you have shared your own stories with me in return, and every time I read sentiments of your gratitude sent because I went… there and said the thing many are afraid to, my heart swells. I talked about grief long before it was acceptable, back when it was seen as taboo to share anything less than immense joy and gratitude for a life well lived. Live. Laugh. Love. Remember? Instagram, for better or worse, became a daily space to connect, lament, build, celebrate and grow.

However, that perpetual cycle of sharing has its downfalls. My soul feels that intensity, and lately, I’m reminded of the easy beauty of my first true love: Tumblr. That platform raised me. And this is why writing on Substack feels like a homecoming of sorts. Only available on my computer, Tumblr was where I went to be inspired and to feel so palpably seen by my fellow design and fashion-loving emo girls. We had it so good, didn’t we? The vibes in that realm were pure magic—it felt simple to share and be shared.

I find myself drawn here now, in the age of fast digital consumption, because that same sense of intentionality and ease seems to live here (for now). The newsletters I follow are constant saves for me, and this feels like the ideal sanctuary to write to my heart’s content. I’m hoping you’ll find resonance in the words I string together.

What is Excelsior?

Excelsior is a sanctuary for anyone in the thick of it—the grief, the slow evolution, the friendships that sustain you, the communities that rebuild you, and the slow alchemy of becoming someone you recognize once again. I am not afraid to share my feelings here and to open up emotionally. As a matter of fact, it’s what makes me stand out in a crowd of voices who like to talk about sadness. I am not afraid to GO THERE, deep into the dark. And, yet, I am wholly open to unabashedly following the whimsy of the light. Here you’ll find personal essays and stream-of-consciousness writing celebrating those profound bonds and honoring grief as the hard professor we never knew we would love. This is a space for those of us who haven’t unraveled it all and aren’t in a rush to. Here, we untangle together.

The Story Behind the Name

Note: We are now entering the deep-dive portion of our evening! If state heraldry and research rabbit holes aren't your thing, feel free to jump down to the pigtailed photo of me where generalized content resumes.

There is of course the definition of the word Excelsior, derived from Latin, meaning “ever upward” or “still higher.” And then there is the story behind why I captioned this photo with a single word (a rarity for me): Excelsior. This photo was taken after a lunch with my Aunt Adele and her visiting friend from Denver. She took us to Francis Ford Coppola Winery—the sweeping views of the Sonoma Valley were the perfect backdrop for a leisurely lunch where my aunt brought up my writing. She loves when I write and proclaimed I needed to start a blog, saying that Excelsior would be an intriguing and wildly fitting title. Thus the seed was planted for a place to house my words. September 4, 2013. And here we sit, nearly thirteen years later (insert melting face emoji).

Excelsior. Excelsior, where had I heard it before? Oh, yes, nine years earlier, I was dressed as a ladybug, complete with fashionable homemade antennae, on my first NYC Halloween night, walking home from a party with a lad who had managed to capture my attention. He, a Georgetown-educated Irishman, held many fervent opinions on the very things I loved —literature, art, economics—and we walked home from a party that evening to get to know one another. I’m sure there were safer ways, but I always felt invincible in Manhattan, even more so when donning a whimsical costume (there would be others, and not on Halloween!). Thank God the boy was hot and his brain was fire. May I forever attract the nerdy ones who light up when they talk about things they love—or oblige me in the things that make my brain spin. We paused to admire the unique etchings as we came upon the New York State Seal outside of the 1930s Art Deco Louis J. Lefkowitz State Office Building. I had a friend walk by to capture so you can also see and so I wouldn’t get hit with copyright infringement.

I became fascinated by the seal, and we went home to deep dive on the computer (because his Blackberry and my flip phone were not portals to the age of information overload). It was the first time I had ever seen Lady Justice —oddly that knowledge didn’t come with my revered Iowa public school education. It was the first time I had thought about where I was standing, and the historical implications of the harbor of New York City in welcoming immigrants to her land. Thankfully, the lad was as open to deep diving as I was and we kept reading each other bits that deepened the meaning of the seal, and of the word Excelsior.

From the Encyclopedia Brittanica (be gentle, my research skills are rusty!):

“The state seal of New York was adopted on March 16, 1778, and was officially designated by law in 1882. The figures of Liberty and Justice hold a shield decorated with symbols of the sun, three mountains, and a ship and a sloop on a river. Above the shield is an American eagle, perched on a globe that depicts the North Atlantic Ocean. The banner includes the state motto—“Excelsior,” meaning “Ever Upward”—and the U.S. motto—“E Pluribus Unum,” meaning “One from Many.”

I know you came here for the stories, but truth be told, if we were sitting across from each other in person, we’d likely have pulled books down from shelves (or computer websites) and have sought out these details together, with wine of course. This is the beauty of knowing me and loving my brain. So, go with me… because when you stand in the city center and you see these important symbols (even in the midst of darkness reigning over our current government), there is a moment of hope that we will soon have voices who value circling back to equality and freedom for all. But really, the seal stuck with me —and now you benefit from that night of educational delight.

Work on the New York State Seal began by committee appointment on April 15, 1777, and the seal was formally adopted on March 16, 1778. It was codified in its official form in 1882, and is seen today on the state flag, official state documents, and government buildings throughout New York. It is worth noting that the seals flanking the entry of The Louis J. Lefkowitz State Office Building are stylized 1929 - 1930 Art Deco versions of the original seal. Below, I’ve outlined the seal details and associated meanings obtained from a myriad of common resources, most notably documents from the NY State Senate website and the Supreme Court of Michigan Learning Center.

The Semiotics of the Seal

Middle Shield:

• The Central Shield depicts the sun rising behind Mount Beacon above the Hudson River. The vessels floating upon the water—a full-masted ship alongside a single-masted sloop—represent early maritime commerce and New York’s historical importance as a center of trade and maritime activity. According to New York Senate historical documentation, the shield visually synthesizes the landscape to contrast the world of Old York with the burgeoning enterprise of the New World

Heraldic Crest:

• Perched atop a globe depicting the North Atlantic Ocean sits the American Bald Eagle, symbolizing New York’s sovereign integration within the American republic. Again, old world to … new world (New York).

The Side Supporters: Liberty and Justice

• Lady Liberty: Positioned on the heraldic dexter (left), she maintains an unblinded, forward-looking posture, bearing a staff crowned with a Phrygian cap. Her left foot tramples an overthrown crown, denoting the absolute repudiation of British monarchical authority. This permanent visual declaration proclaims that this New York is supported by Justice and Liberty.

• Lady Justice: Positioned on the sinister (right), she wears the classic 16th-century blindfold symbolizing judicial impartiality and systemic equity. Her left hand holds the balanced scales of evidence, while her right rests upon a sword—symbolizing enforcement, authority, and the judicial capacity to sever legal obscurity to arrive at factual truth.

Bottom Mottos:

• Excelsior: A Latin phrase meaning “Ever Upward” to promote state progress.

• E Pluribus Unum: Added in 2020, by NY Governor Andrew Cuomo, a national motto meaning “Out of Many, One” for unity.

A Critical Note on Historical Paradox

One would be remiss in analyzing the New York State Seal without examining the profound socio-political contradictions embedded in its iconography. The Phrygian cap held by Lady Liberty originates in Roman antiquity as the pileus, a cap bestowed upon formerly enslaved individuals upon manumission. When the New York provincial congress adopted this emblem of liberation in 1778, it is important to note that they did so as a slave-holding state. Full emancipation in New York would not occur until July 4, 1827—nearly half a century after the seal’s initial adoption.

As documented by the Historical Society of the New York Courts, New York pursued a painfully protracted path toward abolition. While the Act for the Gradual Abolition of Slavery in 1799 only freed children born to enslaved mothers after July 4th of that year under mandatory indentured servitude, subsequent legislation in 1817 finally designated July 4, 1827, as the definitive date of total emancipation.

Thus, the inclusion of the Phrygian cap serves as a striking historic artifact—a visual representation of the enduring divergence between revolutionary rhetoric on liberty and the legal reality of chattel slavery in the early republic.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Excelsior!

This leads us to a segue of someone who did greatly protest slavery, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. If you’re not a poetry-obsessed soul, you may be wondering what Longfellow has to do with the New York State Seal. While I do not greatly love the poem (TURN AROUND, GO BACK DOWN; death by hubris is not honorary), I find the story sweet of how an 1841 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was inspired by seeing the state seal, with the motto Excelsior, on a scrap of a newspaper to write a poem of the same name. In it, a young traveler ascends through snow and night, carrying a banner emblazoned with that single word: Excelsior!

As written on the Poetry Lover’s Page,

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote “Excelsior” in a burst of late-night energy on September 28, 1841, finishing the draft at half past three in the morning. The poem follows a nameless youth through an Alpine village at nightfall, bearing a banner inscribed with the single Latin word meaning “higher.” Warned by an old man, a young woman, and a peasant, the youth refuses every appeal and climbs until the mountain kills him. His body is found in the snow, the banner still in his frozen hand.

What makes the poem linger is its refusal to explain. Longfellow never tells us what the youth is climbing toward, or why. The old man warns of storms; the maiden offers rest and affection; the peasant shouts about avalanches. Each time, the refrain answers -- “Excelsior!” -- but the word shifts weight with every stanza. At first it sounds like resolve. By the middle stanzas it sounds like compulsion. By the end, when a disembodied voice drops the word from the sky “like a falling star,” it sounds less like triumph than elegy. The poem’s engine is this ambiguity: readers who treat it as a straightforward hymn to perseverance have to ignore the corpse at the finish.

“The banner still in his frozen hand”

Maybe the apropos cautionary tale is that this lad was also focused on collecting gold stars.

Longfellow explained the repeated title using the Latin phrase "Scopus meus excelsior est,” meaning "my goal is higher." The poem was so wildly popular in the Victorian era, it was stated to have been reprinted in an estimated 272 newspapers, that it was set to music as a duet by Irish composer Michael William Balfe. I couldn’t help but have a listen, and will say the songs that followed were some of the most beautifully operatic hymn-like I’ve heard. Maybe we sometimes need to return to a simpler life playlist to relax. Well, I sense I’ll be able to handle such calm for 30 minutes before begging Rihanna to find her way into my Spotify. After you read the poem, have a listen for the full Excelsior experience.

I must say, this song did eventually take me to one of my favorite Mozart albums! This music will most certainly inspire you to put the banner down and dance with non-accolade-chasing whimsy in your kitchen while cooking something Ina Garten.

State seals and literary analyses aside, the beauty of what I’ve learned from claiming Excelsior as my own now goes deep into my the meaning behind why I write. For years, I wore that motto like a badge of relentless striving. But today, Excelsior means something entirely different to me. It’s no longer about frantically conquering the next peak or chasing gold stars. It’s no longer about rushing love because my nervous system couldn’t decipher between love and loss after far too many experiences with death. It’s no longer about what others want for me. But, I’m the star of my own show —and the people around me have helped me rebuild. When the career finds me, I’ll be ready to soar. When the love enters the frame, I’ll be ready to hold it with peace and an inner knowing … because I found me at the heart of it all.

Ultimately, it’s about near-silent ascension found in the daily, intentional practice of moving upward in spirit, even when the path is steeped in grief or undoing.

Why Here and Why Now?

Yes, the shirt says “H E A R T B R E A K E R” and I wish I had one in my current size for giggles. Anyone who also attended my elementary school knows this right here is the signature ‘Vincent girls’ look—the curled pigtails of my youth on display here with all the manners and poise our mother expected outside of our home. Meanwhile, my favorite grandma hid peach schnapps underneath the seat of my mother’s 1966 mustang.

When the pigtails were unbound and we were in our play clothes (remember those?), I was just a girl who did handstands against the wall in a red leotard and wished for my favorite childhood ice cream for dessert — chocolate chip if you must know; I’m now a refined devotee of its sophisticated Italian cousin, stracciatella.

Here, I’m in 3rd grade; I had lost my dad very suddenly a year prior (my next post), and it wasn’t something we really talked about outside our home—my sister, my mom and me. After all, we were the Vincent girls, our father’s stoic mother, Grandma Bessie, leading the charge. Yet, our home wasn’t a rigid place. My mom was always fostering play, constantly trying to bring light into the house by dancing in the living room and in the kitchen to old country music.

I felt somewhat different at school, but what saved me was my accolades. I did what I was supposed to do (“supposed to do” — we will hear this a bit and the undoing of it as we progress through Excelsior) — get good grades, win first chair violin (against my older cousin no less), earn swimming competition ribbons and land the gymnastic moves. My youth was outwardly defined by gold stars, but inside there was (and IS) SO MUCH WHIMSY. Lately, I’ve been working to balance finding my playfulness with what it means to be shaped by early loss and trauma. It was something I hid from on repeat for years, running from city to city, because starting over was so much easier than going deeper.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But truth be told, the words were never just for me. Every paragraph I write heals something in her, little Shelley.

I hope to build a community here of like-minded souls who love to dive deep and go down rabbit holes. I love literature, poetry, and art, and I am usually weaving them all into my life as a personal curriculum.

Ever upward, though no longer in a hurry.

xx, Shelley

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