book review: my grandmother's hands

My Grandmother's Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Mending of Our Bodies and Hearts by Resmaa Menakem

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am i dissociating or am i just far away?

the other day i was chatting at lunch (our final one because one of our trio is moving) with two friends and a really great analogy flowed about emotional availability and clouds. i won’t recite the whole convo but here’s a little briefing:

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new book borrowing policy

earlier this week, i was with kalia, marty, and their child, iona, and a funny moment happened that i think is worth sharing.

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just cause you're on the bench doesn't mean your team isn't winning

there is a really excellent section of this podcast where franny and danez, the two poet hosts of this (my favorite) poetry podcast, share their thinking about what it means to have a crew. i’m just going to drop the bullet points below, but you should listen for yourself if you want the ground truth. the link is timestamped to the part of the conversation i’m talking about.

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thanks for that conversation years ago

in the past ten days, two or three different people (alex, sam, and maybe one other) have said something of this effect to me:

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