Friday Introductions

I don’t think I’ve ever done a proper “Friday Introductions” post, so, here we are. You’ve been forewarned: I don’t talk about myself very well. So this won’t be my best work but hey, it’s what the kids are doing these days.

-I’m 25 years old. Finally old enough to rent a car, y’all!

-I’m very proud of my laugh lines. I’ve never really understood the fear surrounding getting older and sprouting wrinkles. Every line I have is a marker of a life well-lived. They show up en masse when I laugh or smile. Why on earth would I want to hide that? (I have a few grey hairs that I adore as well.)

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Canyons

At night, I dream of the desert.

Most nights, my mind hits the dry, packed earth of southern Utah running. I first visited Utah in 2016, and had it been up to me, I would’ve never left.

The day we left, I sat on the edge of Island in the Sky, a mesa that rests on sheer sandstone cliffs that rise over 1000 feet over the rest of Canyonlands National Park. I sat there for a long time, tears rolling into my smiling mouth. The canyons that yawned before me, lit by the rising sun, were unreal in their beauty. The wind that rose up out of those deep gashes in the earth crackled through sagebrush and filled my mouth with rust-colored grit. I didn’t care.

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The Space Between

Plantations—the structures—are beautiful. What happened within their walls and on their grounds was an unspeakable evil.

Isn’t this what southerners struggle with on a daily basis? This push-and-pull effect between loving your region, your state, your town… but still knowing that the land you stand on bore witness to the worst atrocities that the human race had to offer. The space between beauty and the profane is where the southern mind rests, and it can respond in two ways. Or so we think.

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