Whimsical Worldviews

How to Rewrite Yourself: Just Add Glitter

I’ve written and rewritten this sentence 200 times. No I haven’t. That guy right there…

The Difference Between Blues and Rainbows Is Just A Little Bit of Light

In January of 2014 I moved from New York City to Florence, Italy. In the…

1,800 Miles to Your Brand New Life

Driving alone eight hours at a time, gorging oneself on bean tacos, Krispy Kreme donuts…

I Write About My Life and Post it on the Internet, Even When it Isn’t This Picture Perfect. Am I Out of My Mind?

Until last year, when I started writing freelance articles with a social narrative and drafting…

How A Deck of Cards Can Acquaint You With Your Truest Self

I am a wild Thing. A wild, witchy Thing, at that. One that sings songs…

The Secret to Success in a Creative Career (psst… It’s conviction)

It was the first day that it was warm enough to leave the apartment with…

Whispers of Love and Longing from Africa

One glass of afternoon wine had gone right to my head, leaving my brain feeling…

Fate (or whatever you call it) Brought Me To An Orphanage in Mkuranga

It was absurd, really. How fated it was. A friend of mine called it a…

A Week Amongst Elephants: These Are The Facts & They Need Your Attention Now

When I was nine years old, my big dream, the biggest, dreamiest, dream I could…

Waiting on the Girl to Change

Each and every time I garner this undue acknowledgement, I begin to feel oddly like a fraud. Like I should craft some uniform and eloquent riposte to dole out to every person I’ve unintentionally deceived. One that makes it totally clear that I’ve done nothing remarkable. I may have been unafraid, but foolishly so. In fact, I cried four separate times because of momentary lonesomeness or because, like a child, all of my friends were together and I wasn’t there.