Living Candidly #3: Getting My Laugh Back

Living Candidly #3: Getting My Laugh Back

In Pre-K 4, my teacher would often hear me laugh in the back reading nook of the classroom with concern. Her concern stemmed from one simple question: was I laughing or crying? At times, it was indecipherable, the laughs shaking my body and tears streaming down my face.

This may seem like an exaggeration, but for the first eighteen years of my life, if I thought something was funny — really funny — I would tear up within seconds of the first chuckle escaping my lips. If it was a discreet laugh, in the back of a classroom or between me and my brother in the backseat of my parents’ cars, I would lose it faster. The waterworks were unintentional and 100% uncontrollable, to the point where I quickly invested in waterproof mascara when I reached a makeup wearing age.

But then, when I was eighteen, something shifted. With the end of my high school career came the end of my tearful laughter. At the time, I chalked it up to a biochemical alteration; I had started taking anti-anxiety medication. I became convinced that I had previously been somewhat uncomfortable in expressing complete joy, and that thought carried me to the conclusion that I was finally free to laugh with emotional abandon.

I did not cry-laugh again — until my twenty fifth birthday. A simple conversation between me and two friends regarding the practices of gynecology drove me to tears over the course of minutes. Since then in the course of two months, I’ve teared up over laughter, gripping my sides, more often than I have in the past seven years. And honestly? I’m so relieved to be tearful again.

Instead of considering it a symptom of discomfort at the display of joy, I’m viewing it more as an uninhibited celebration of joy. It’s a wantonness, a carefree element, a comfort level that maybe I’ve been missing for a while. Maybe, for the first time in a long time, I’m comfortable in my own exaltation.

I hope I continue to laugh like that four year old I once was.

Candidly Concerting #3: lovelytheband

“Hey, Ma, I think this year the band made it.” Those were the last words that the frontman of lovelytheband, Mitchy Collins, managed to say before he turned his back on a cheering audience with a reddening face to wipe his eyes. His bandmates, Jordan Greenwald and Sam Price, both stepped away from their instruments and went to celebrate and comfort him. After all, they had just shared with the crowd that the sold out Irving Plaza in New York City in three days, a stage the members themselves had been to see Billboard greats like FallOut Boy, Ed Sheeran, and Macklemore. Now it was their turn.

I remember the first time I heard lovelytheband’s hit “broken” on the segment “Ear Poppin’ New Music” on SiriusXM’s Hits 1. I was driving to Ocean City, New Jersey with my mom, freshly returned from my first year in grad school in London and finding myself surprisingly at a loss with what to listen to on American radio while, as I like to call it, “driving with Wendy” thanks to my increasingly eclectic Spotify tastes. But if there’s one thing I can never resist, it’s the opportunity to hear new music. I did not, however, expect for my tastes to shift into high gear. I don’t even think the song ended before “broken” was added to my Spotify summer playlist. And when the album was released, it was added to my saved catalog.

It’s now been a year since that highway listen. The band has received decent notoriety, and well-deserved. Their sound is widely appealing, with an audience on Monday night’s concert ranging from families with musically woke middle schoolers to late thirties groups of music enthusiasts. Personally, I went alone, wanting to fully dance and geek out when they played “pity party” (I did) and nearly cry at the end of “maybe I’m afraid” (there were witnesses). And while the opening acts were decent (Jagwar Twin and Flora Cash), if at times muddy, there was no chance of anyone stealing lovelytheband’s thunder that weekday night at Irving Plaza. They owned that stage and fully earned the Live Nation backing that they’re receiving for their finding it hard to smile tour.

I am a certified, cemented, rock-solid fan.

Living Candidly #2: Is Mainstream Media Whitewashing the Black-Lesbian Love Story?

Living Candidly #2: Is Mainstream Media Whitewashing the Black-Lesbian Love Story?

DISCLAIMER: I am, in complete honesty, a heterosexual white woman. I did, however, complete my undergraduate thesis in the oppression of the black female body in Afro-American diasporic literature and I received top marks. I am not an authority, but I am a passionate ally. Let’s begin.


Last night, after binging the new Zac Efron/Ted Bundy Bio-Pic, two friends and I turned on Netflix’s new — for lack of a better word — chick-flick Someone Great starring Gina Rodriguez, Brittany Snow, and DeWanda Wise. On the surface, the core cast was diverse and riveting. Rodriguez played a broken-hearted Latina who had recently landed her dream job at Rolling Stone in San Francisco, ultimately driving her away from New York and her boyfriend of the past nine years. Snow was the uptight WASP who learns to let loose through the course of the film, finding out that not everything has to go according to plan. And finally, Wise is the Black-Lesbian.

I leave that sentence at seven words because there is so much more to unpack there than to sum up in one singular sentence. Through the course of the film, her character Erin has to learn that it’s okay to fall in capital-L Love, even if that means opening herself up to vulnerability of rejection. In a poignant moment with her lover, she reveals that she was in one semi-relationship in college only to be left for a man, leaving her to feel like “an experiment.” But prior to this reveal, Erin is cold romantically, withdrawn when it comes to her romantic partner’s pushes for more intimacy. When pressed by Snow’s character Blair for why she won’t just date someone, Erin tells her to keep her “heteronormative labels in a motherf**king box to the motherf**king left.”

And while it was a laughable line in the way that Wise delivered it, was she right in the fact that Blair was whitewashing the situation? Or was the situation already whitewashed in its very essence?

I couldn’t help but reflect upon the character of Kat Edison on The Bold Type, played by Aisha Dee. While the show actually chronicles her coming out story, it also features her own reluctance to commit to a relationship of any formulation even when heavy romantic feelings are involved. In one altercation between Kat and her love interest Adena, Kat says that she doesn’t “do” relationships — an exact sentiment that could have fallen from the lips of Wise’s character in Someone Great.

And while both romantic scenarios resolve in the happily-ever-after plot, I can’t help but wonder if there’s something incredibly whitewashed and gentrified about the black-lesbian experience in this film and televison show? Are we sterilizing it to make it safe for general audiences? Are we generalizing it to a point that it covers all the bases in order to make it so larger than life that it is no longer gritty and real? What are we supposed to be gaining from these portrayals? One is relatable, and two is celebratory, but if the trend continues in the cookie-cutter format, what cost will it have for our open-heartedness when we face their real-life counterparts, particularly those who don’t fit the mold?

Candidly Reading #1: Recommitting Myself to My Inner Bookworm

Candidly Reading #1: Recommitting Myself to My Inner Bookworm

One must always be careful of books and what is inside them, for words have the power to change us.

Cassandra Clare

To acquire the habit of reading is the construct for yourself a refuge from almost all the miseries of life.

W. Somerset Maugham

I am the daughter of two generous and inspiring bibliophiles.

My father frequently recounts opening the door to my bedroom an hour after my mother would usher my four year old self into the coverlet only to discover she was still sitting on the seams of the mattress, picture book in hand, a pile of previous reads at her feet, an enraptured child perched at her side. There was certainly no sleep, and no foreseeable end.

But my father got his own turn at bestowing the magic when it came to chapter books, which we would alternate reading pages out of when it came to my grade school years. And, when it came time for me to read on my own, we would “parallel” read, choosing the same texts and conversing about our progresses.

My mother, meanwhile, continued to stoke the fire of my voraciousness. From an early age, I would go to the library with a small rolling suitcase and be encouraged to take all I could fit. By middle school, my mother was facilitating the Scholastic catalog distribution to not only my grade but my brother’s and occasionally those of our teachers she felt a certain bond with even after our matriculation from their classrooms. This filled my home once a month with the inventory of a small bookstore. Speaking of, to this day, if I even remotely suggest a Barnes & Noble road trip, I can rely on little reluctance when I show up at the cashier counter with not one but two (or three) novels.

I started academically pursuing literature fervently in high school. My electives were commonly literary — notably, my seven-person class of Shakespeare in Senior year which earned me the Distinction in English award at graduation — and I even willingly and enthusiastically attended an academic camp where, yes, again I studied Shakespeare.

This all considered, I was reluctant to pursue my Bachelor’s in English. I know — contradictory! But I felt it was the easy choice, the given, the expected. I realized, however, that as soon as I took my first English elective — “Medieval Romances: Knights, Ladies, Etc” — there was no course of action other than to give into where my heart belonged. And in my heart, I have always been a true and chronic reader.  

And while professionally I do plan on returning to the Publishing world, this time in a recruitment capacity to best shape the futures of those hopefuls that I was once a member, until an hour ago I was jaded. I could hardly pick up a book without thinking of the ones I would binge in preparation for publisher interviews so I would be informed about a certain genre or house catalog.

But in the meantime, I need to pick up a damn book.

I’m thrilled to say I made the first commitment to myself today by subscribing to Book of the Month club and ordering not one but two of their offerings. I’ll be checking back in with reviews when I complete the reads, a book club of one, just to say hello and give thoughts, and undoubtedly a quote.

I am ready to be the bookworm daughter again who was read countless picture books, who read alternate pages, who sat and shared progress over breakfast, who packaged classmates’ books with care. I am ready to be me.  

Candidly Dating #1: The 85% Rule

We dive into things head first hoping for something more than we knew we could be. You didn’t have any cruel intentions, I thought I mentioned I want more than you.

“85%,” Loote feat. gnash

About three days before Christmas Day 2015, I was told by my boyfriend of six months — my first boyfriend ever — that I could not be a priority in his life. There is something incredibly confidence altering about hearing that from someone whose opinion shapes the way you view your own world. The damage that those words had not only on my own self-esteem but on our relationship and the ways I would view romantic relationships in that moment and in the weeks, months, and (unfortunately) years to come is something that I still feel the reverberations of to this day, despite all the comfort and action my friends and family have tried to instill in reparation.

The short of it is that I was giving 100% of myself, limiting my whole self to fit the needs of someone who realistically was giving an operable 85% in return. While I had no boundaries set, no visible lines in the sand, he did.

Now, it’s obviously been some time since this relationship ended. And while I still feel its effects, it has given me some key skills in negotiating the romantic playing field in my mid-twenties. The first being: always match interest, never over-invest without some indication of reciprocation.

Just yesterday, I was asked on a date by someone who I have reasonable interest in based off of what is admittedly a short conversation on a dating app — it is 2019, after all. We made plans for today at 3:00 PM, with him confirming this morning at 11:00 AM that he would send a location closer to the meet-up. An hour and a half before 3:00 PM, I messaged asking where, only to hear back he was doing errands and be asked if I was free tonight. While this could be completely innocuous, the fact that I likely wouldn’t have heard if I hadn’t texted showed lack of intent. And I was already dressed. Once more, I found myself at a higher interest than the partner.

This isn’t a phenomena limited to my own faults. I’ve watched friends give their all to guys — and girls, don’t worry — who clearly don’t see them as an equally viable partner in the long term. While it could easily be solved with a clear discussion, it often takes a harsh wake-up call in a few unfortunate situations to train a shrewd mind until finding that equilibrium.

So today, I am dateless; and honestly, I’m fine with it. A bit laughing at myself, just because this is something that I try to avoid, but other than that, I’ll just listen to “85%” by Loote a few times and then move forward with my day. It’s a gorgeous Saturday and being spared someone who doesn’t see you as worthwhile is a blessing more than anything.

Living Candidly #1: Pinned and Pressured to Change

Living Candidly #1: Pinned and Pressured to Change

I understand the various exceptions made regarding personal space on public transportation during rush hour in major metropolitan areas. But today I found myself pressed against the railing on the edge of the seats of the 2 train, my chest against the bars and a fully grown man’s front knowingly pinning me in place while he was afforded plenty of room. This was not a crowded train; this was a case of one man being too entitled in his actions where he knew he could get away with a little overstepping when it came to touching my body. When I moved further into the corner, crossing my limbs uncomfortably to make myself smaller, he moved in closer — a telltale sign of intent.

I am not a girl who gets catcalled in the street. I don’t get looked at twice at a bar. I’m more likely to get the additional free drink purchased for my friends by the bartender. So while I’ve heard of harassment and its permeability into the lives of women, I rarely experience it on such a physical and unavoidable level. And now, in the wake of that 50 block subway ride, I can assure you: that shit fucking sucks.

When I got to work, I talked with my coworkers (read: friends) about the experience to only hear their own stories about subway harassment. I was informed I was lucky that I didn’t feel an erection the entire time I was subjected to the touch of the stranger, a reality I was honestly only afforded because I was too nervous and subsequently incredibly squirmy the duration of the interaction. But it was a relatable reality for all of them.

At this point, I’ve probably got some readers up in arms with the #NotAllMen. And that’s fine, because I agree. Just last night I was watching The Bold Type (two references in two days, what is this?). Alex, a male journalist on the show, is confronted with the fact that he may have not been as pro-consent in his past as he has always believed himself to be, and this reality shakes him to question what it means when a woman comes forward with an implication that a man has sexually harassed or, worse, assaulted her. And this is what was said:

I talk about this stuff all the time with my guy friends, over dinner, over text, but never in public. And that needs to change because that’s how the behavior changes. However, I’m freaking out. I mean, these are weird times. People are losing their jobs over tweets, not even new ones. And I’ve grown from this, truly, but I’m scared that people are going to come after me for something that I’ve done in my past.

The Bold Type, Freeform

So this is what I propose. An equal playing field to both call those people who overstep personal boundaries like the man who wildly invaded my personal space on the train this morning while still offering absolution to those minor infractions from the past to those men who make intentional strides to prove that there really is some truth to the #NotAllMen trend.
Maybe if the discussion was more normalized, I would have been able to speak up about the discomfort this man was giving me in the moment of the interaction. But instead, I was kept quiet by the fact that I was afraid of offending him and causing an “unreasonable scene.” If you ask me, living in a cycle of accusation and outrage, and outrage and accusation, only means there can be absolutely no progress.

That reality sounds far worse than one that we live in now. At least now we have potential to open the door to progress. 

Candidly Concerting #1: LÉON feat. Morgan Saint at Irving Plaza

Candidly Concerting #1: LÉON feat. Morgan Saint at Irving Plaza

Last night, I attended Ones to Watch Presents: LÉON at Irving Plaza. I’ve been onto LÉON’s music since hearing “Surround Me” on The Bold Type in 2017 (yeah, I joined that band wagon), so I was quick on the Ticketmaster trigger when I found out she was doing a tour stop in New York City. I dragged my dear and yet non-fan friend Rebecca along with me to the Union Square venue, paid way too much for those requisite vodka soda, and pushed our way to three standing rows back from the barriers blockading the stage.

I was completely and unabashedly way to excited for this concert. LÉON’s sultry vocals and ballads that, in my opinion, can rival Adele any damn day of the week had been teasing me since I purchased the tickets on February 4th.

I was not, however, equally enthused in anticipation for seeing the opening act. Don’t get me wrong, I typically experience excitement with opening acts — the possibility of witnessing a star on the rise. But I had done my research and been put off by the striking appearance of Morgan Saint’s alt-pop rock (?) album covers and and the synth heavy sound.

I was wildly underestimating the power of a true performer.

While it was clear that Morgan Saint was the real deal from the first step on stage — undeniable from the GaGa command of the space and the swagger of a true musician (think Lorde) — it was the introduction and performance of the song “Glass Houses” that sold me. Morgan Saint started by asking the audience to raise their hands if they had ever had their heart broken. Then Morgan Saint said to keep our hands raised if we had ever broken our own heart. My right hand remained over my head until the first chord rang out.

If I told you I was broken, would you love me still?
Shattered hearts, crossed stars, never saw myself…

Won’t you love me now? F*cking love me now
It’s all broken, unspoken
Just breathe me in, taste me on your lips
You can let me go, if you need to let me go

“Glass Houses,” Morgan Saint
Take a listen to this stripped down version.

There’s something incredibly powerful when a performer strips their experience bare and connects with an audience on a level of raw emotion. I don’t think Rebecca noticed but “Glass Houses” drove me to be misty-eyed. It permeated my skin and made my blood hot with memory of my darkest times. I related to the lyrics on a level I would never have expected, because I had a realization I could never have grasped before. In efforts to move forward from the darkness that was my first six months of 2016, I had made every effort to absolve all of those who had removed themselves from my life under the pressure of the events. But I had not forgiven myself for being the force that opened that door, for being the driving force asking for unreasonable salvation from individuals who could not offer me that rescue. And that is now a mission that I have given myself to work on. In the aftermath of Morgan Saint’s performance, her entire discography has been added to my arsenal of songs to listen to.

Luckily, although a true balladeer, LÉON’s set was filled with infectious upbeats and crowd engagement. LÉON focused on providing grounded, relatable anecdotes about the hardships in love that drove her to these songs of romantic woes — see: “Body” or “Pink.” Her carefree dancing on stage only encouraged the audience to dance more daringly and sing more loudly, even to the point where LÉON could stop singing and the melody would carry throughout the packed venue. While it might seem like I am shortchanging LÉON as the main event by giving her less text space than her opener, there really are no words to convey the contagious joy that spread throughout Irving Plaza as soon as the lamps lit up the stage. It was a shame to watch her go, but to close it out with “Surround Me” and enjoy the moment of communion not only with her as an artist but with the whole crowd as a gathering was the icing on the cake to someone who found her with that very song.

The track that LÉON and her band performed during the feature photo.

LÉON, keep shining bright. Morgan Saint, I’m grateful.