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This week has been a challenging one, to say the least. One of my girls got severely sick with a troublesome one hundred and four degree temperature. And guess what that meant? I was home for all three days with my sick, sweet baby girl. My younger daughter on the other hand thought she could be absent by proxy until she realized, that’s not how this works. She had an epic meltdown while declaring her concern and love for her sick sister’s wellbeing. As much as I appreciated her strategic thoughtfulness, I didn’t budge and she still had to make it to school on time. Yay me! I deserve a prize and a snack. While at home, I started thinking about how much—primarily mothers— sacrifice for our children’s wellbeing. Many may argue that once you become a mother, you’re relegated to the automatic responsibility of childcare, but I am so happy that my generation and those behind us are pushing back against this ideal. In our home, we go based based on who is available to work from home. If that person is needed in the office, then we go based on who makes less. With the way the cost of living is snatching us all by the jugular, whoever has less to lose takes over the childcare at that time. We send the other to slay the corporate America dragon. Dragon breathing fire Thankfully, I survived those three days and now I am back to my day job— working with teenagers . Who would have thought that working with teenagers would be one of the least stressful parts of my day? As I sit here, one jumps into my class to say “Hi,” just because. Because of them, my fears of the teenage years with my two daughters have subsided. I know it’s not the same, but I am realizing the strategies that work with them. As someone who has been working with kids since I was nineteen years old in all age groups, I think I am cracking the code. A good balance of giving them a sense of autonomy, respect, and a healthy sense of humor goes a long way. Most value authority in a way that isn’t constricting or overbearing, because it gives the feeling of being heard. They’ve now started coming to me to talk and complain about the teachers and subs they think are being difficult. It’s quite funny the way they sometimes arrive out of breath, but leave being able to get a different perspective and a clearer picture of what it takes to adapt to different personalities in an academic setting. I hope that my words stay with them even as they move into their professions after graduation. My experience as a mother and someone in the field of education takes me back to my roots. I think of the fundamental values that were instilled in me by the people in my life, and one particular person comes to mind. She is the OG dragon slayer, a woman who committed decades of her life to service as an educator leaving quite an impression on the lives of many young girls and women. Saint Joseph's Convent, St. Lucia, W.I Who could have imagined that Sister Claire, a petite and stern nun who once served as the long-time principal of my high school, St. Joseph’s Convent  in St. Lucia, would leave such a profound mark on my life? I am not sure if the quietest shoes known to mankind were handed out upon becoming a nun, but she built a reputation among us for just appearing out of thin air. She possessed a witty sense of humor and a painful ruler that we all affectionately called “ Tickler. ” On a rare occasion or two, Tickler made contact with my body at a time when it was and still may be legal for an educator to hit your child in St. Lucia. It was quite a time and a generation. If you reported to your parents, you received little to no comfort. You were better off consoling yourself through internal dialogue, rather than dealing with the possibility of another spanking from parents who followed a philosophy of spank now and ask questions later . I don’t think they even bothered to ask questions, because no explanation could suffice for making your teacher or principal have to spank you. In the minds of most parents, your teacher was right, you were wrong, and it was your fault, no questions asked. I was quite lucky that my mother was the anomaly in that I barely ever got spanked—not that I can remember—but she would ask and lean into the belief that I probably did something to deserve it. Thankfully, that too was also a rare occurrence. Sister Claire led a group of hormonal, teenage girls like the champ that she was. She humbly ushered us from girlhood into womanhood by simultaneously displaying exemplary strength and gentleness. It was her leadership that helped many of us come into our identity, overcome difficulties, and encouraged us to forge our paths. St. Joseph’s Convent was where I learned the value of sisterhood, education, acts of service, good manners, and etiquette. To this day, I still believe that good manners and acts of service are social currency that help us all navigate the world with grace and consideration for others. Here, in some small way, I am one of thousands fulfilling the legacy of a woman who played a pivotal role in my life. Her values and the values of my alma mater built a resilience in me that connects to who I am today as a mother, an educator, and a human being. Who in your life has left a beautiful legacy in you?

Originally posted: January 18, 2021 Edited: January 19, 2025 “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” Martin Luther King Jr. (Strength to Love, 1963) Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day. This day is a powerful reminder of our collective struggle for equality and justice. For many, it is a moment to reflect on Dr. King's profound legacy and recommit ourselves to the principles he championed. It is also a time to celebrate the unwavering determination of Black women, who have always been at the center of the movement for progress. As we honor Dr. King’s memory, we must also recognize that the fight for justice is far from over. Recent events—both triumphant and challenging—underscore the necessity of showing up for Black women. The 2024 election served as a powerful reminder of the significance of the Black vote, especially the impact on Black women. Once again, Black women united with a remarkable 92% strength in their collective efforts to help reshape the nation's future. Unfortunately, we had to come to terms with the harsh reality that, aside from Black men, we were nearly alone in this struggle. This pattern of Black women bearing the burden of democracy is finally being recognized, albeit at a critical moment, as we collectively choose to prioritize rest. Tricia Hersey, founder of the Nap Ministry, argues that rest could be a form of resistance. In a recent interview with NPR, Tricia states " ... right now rest is critical because it's counterintuitive and counter-narrative to see slowing down, napping and rest as a key to our movement for black liberation. But it really is so important because rest disrupts and pushes back and allows space for healing, for invention, for us to be more human. It'll allow us to imagine this new world that we want, this new world that's liberated, that's full of justice, that's a foundation for us to really, truly live our lives. " Michelle Obama is now being villainized for not attending the presidential inauguration happening today. Her decision, whether made by choice or due to a scheduling conflict, represents a significant act of protest—a refusal to normalize a political climate that often feels hostile to the values she embodies. As a former First Lady, Michelle Obama has exemplified grace, resilience, and strength. Her absence from the inauguration sent a powerful message: silence is not an option, and complicity is not acceptable. For many Black women, her choice resonated deeply, reminding us that we have the right to prioritize our well-being and stand firm in our beliefs—especially when the world expects our labor without offering anything in return. Michelle Obama , First Lady of the United States of America 2009-2017 Michelle Obama's choice underscores a broader reality: Black women are frequently expected to support others without hesitation. We serve as the backbone of movements, the caretakers of our communities, and the driving force behind progress. However, we are often not given the same care and consideration that we provide to others. If all Michelle does is lie in bed today, I am proud of her. On this Martin Luther King Jr. Day, let us recognize and celebrate the powerful force that Black women represent. We must also acknowledge the allies who stand with us—not just during moments of triumph but also in times of challenge and controversy. Dr. King’s words remind us that it is easy to remain on the sidelines during comfortable times. True allyship requires stepping up when it matters most. Supporting Black women goes beyond empty words. It entails advocating for policies that tackle systemic inequalities, such as maternal health disparities and the gender pay gap. It means investing in Black-owned businesses, backing Black women-led initiatives, and amplifying our voices in spaces where we are underrepresented. Additionally, it involves challenging the stereotypes and biases that undermine our contributions and deny us the humanity we deserve. Black women are not saviors or superheroes. We are human beings who deserve love, respect, and rest. As we honor Dr. King’s legacy today, let us also honor the countless Black women who have carried the torch of justice through generations. From the Civil Rights Movement to now, but after all this hard work we are now choosing to rest. Others need to pick up the spear and fight the battles. To those who call themselves allies: continue to do the work. Speak up when it matters. Advocate for our rights and recognize our worth—not just when it is convenient but always. But for now and possibly into the foreseeable future, Black women are choosing to rest. It’s time for the world to show up for us. We deserve it. (Photo of Michelle Obama , First Lady of the United States of America 2009-2017)

There’s a particular kind of heartbreak that comes with a love story that lingers in the "what-if" realm. It doesn’t belong entirely to the past or the future; it exists in a liminal space between hope and closure. It felt warm and nourishing, other times, it was a ghost—haunting me with whispers of what could have been, pulling me back into memories I should have left in the past. My story lasted much longer than I would like to admit. Our love did not disturb the progression of our lives in different parts of the world, but there was always a void, much like the one a child experiences when they lose a parent. I do not wish for anyone to exist in this space, because I believe we all deserve two things: clarity  and commitment . It’s a love story I thought would have a second act, but it ultimately ended, not in a fiery burst of anger or betrayal, but in the quiet realization that our reunion would never happen. Here are some of the lessons I learned moving forward into a space of reconciling with the truth and healing. If he Wanted to, he Would . This principle became an anchor as I slowly began to crawl out of my disappointment. I had to face the reality that his words were meaningless because there was no action —just a hollow echo of what love should be. Genuine love transcends many obstacles and people make time for who or what is important to them. This wasn't someone who didn't have the means to, but rather someone who chose not to . His verbal declarations of love were all a mirage—it looked real from a distance but evaporated when I reached for it. When there is nothing to hold on to, you have to let go. Hope can be a Trap . Hope can be beautiful, but it can also blind you. For years, I clung to the hope that he would act on his words, but he didn't. My desire to see him again and maybe continue where we left off became a trap, tethering me to a cycle of hurt and disappointment. It came to a point where I felt I was being gaslit at times, because my desires and expectations were not being met. This is when hope does not serve you; it keeps you stuck . Letting go felt like I lost a dream, but it also freed me to see reality for what it is, not what I wished it could be. Healing Requires Clarity . Healing began when I stopped asking "What if?" and started accepting "What is." Clarity wasn’t something he gave me—it was something I found for myself. I had been walking in circles, chasing a love that left me adrift. His words said one thing, but his actions told a different story. That realization was the clarity I needed. The familiar tightness in my chest, the ache of confusion, was my body’s way of saying: Enough. For once, I chose me . Self-worth Comes First . During the times we spoke, I showed him I was intentional about us being together and so did he for some time. I am not sure what happened, but things changed. I knew I deserved far more than what was being given to me. Walking away felt like stepping into a desert—barren, lonely, and uncomfortable. In many ways, that desert with its raw honesty, was better than the illusion of love I had been clinging to. In solitude, I rediscovered myself. I realized that clarity isn’t just about understanding someone else’s actions; it’s about honoring my values. Finding Strength in Solitude . The hardest part of walking away was the silence that followed. It’s in that silence that I confront all the things I had been avoiding: the pain, the doubt, and possibly the fear of being alone. But the silence also brought strength. It forces me to rely on myself, to build a foundation that no one else can shake. I found resilience and clarity. And most importantly, I found the courage to choose myself over a false hope. Letting go of my “what-if” love  wasn’t just an ending—it was a beginning. Remember: you deserve a love that is steady, intentional, and authentic. (Artwork by Natalie Hirschman/Tutt'Art )

Imagine planning a beautiful day with your children. You start by preparing an amazing breakfast of toasted ciabatta and sourdough bread with a light spread of butter, scrambled and sunny-side-up eggs topped with micro greens, and sliced avocados. You all enjoy our meal, get dressed, and head out to the local bowling alley. Shortly after starting your first game, a surging pain radiates from your left sciatic nerve causing sharp shooting pain down your leg. You push through only managing to land gutter balls, but you continue to give your children the fun and memorable day they asked for—the goal of every loving parent. You have lunch, bowl some more, and move the fun to the arcade. As you're heading to the car, your kids start bickering and it all turns to shit. One kid yells to the other, " Keep quiet " out of utter anger and frustration. This was me. Motherhood is not for the weak. It's even harder for those with chronic pain. What I thought was a beautiful time was ending disastrously. Not too long ago we were having fun, and shortly after, I was at my wit's end with two bickering children. For the last two hours, all I could hear and feel outside of my beating heart was the throbbing and unbearable pain on the left side of my lower back. Instead of our usual celebratory talk and high-fives at the end of a three-hour day of fun, I had to be the referee between my two girls. My older daughter opened the door to the back seat and the alarm went off for some reason, sending my younger daughter into a high-pitched screaming frenzy. The mix of noise and pain made me even more frustrated with the whole situation and I yelled from the driver's side, " Please stop it. " My little one began crying immediately, as I expected to. Guilt came over me. This was the last thing I wanted to do. She thought I was telling her to stop crying, which is not something I do. We acknowledge all feelings, as long as it does not violate physical boundaries and become emotionally abusive. Crying isn’t suppressed or dismissed. I had to quickly assure her that I wasn't telling her she had no reason to cry, but rather that they stop the bickering. We all got in the car and started making our way home instead of heading to the thrift store as we had planned earlier. I think we all just needed to rest. The ride back home was all of about seven minutes, but another argument erupted. I can't remember for the life of me what sparked the argument.… Oh, I do remember! I was looking for my glasses, and suspected I may have forgotten it at the bowling alley—I did forget it there. My younger daughter pointed out that she thinks her sister is wearing it since our glasses are the same rose color. I knew it wasn't, because mine is a different shape. I said to her that those belonged to her sister and that it wasn't mine. My older daughter then suddenly screamed out, " Stop pointing at me, " to her sister. I usually try to let them resolve things on their own, but after about the third time she screamed another ear-drum splitting "Stop pointing at me, " I had it up to my eyeballs and with a firmly elevated voice said, " Stop it now. " “The funny thing about children is that they are the reason we lose it and the reason we hold it together!” — Author Unknown At that point, I was simply praying to get to my bed, because of the pain in my lower back and down my left leg was worsening. I imagined my hand reaching between the driver and passenger seats to be the heavy hand I would sometimes feel as a kid on my skin when I did not follow directions. It was fleeting and mildly satisfying, but met with instant regret. I refuse to spank, beat, or inflict intentional pain on my children, so I resorted to what I know how to do best— talk . I instructed everyone to stop talking and to be respectful to each other. We all just needed to get home. They remained silent for only a few seconds before my older daughter began to vent her frustrations about her sister. She talked about how she tries to be a great big sister, but her little sister keeps making her mad. I told her I was sorry that she felt that way. We approached the parking lot and I backed into my spot. She vented some more, because that is one of the ways she processes her emotions. She kept talking on our way to our apartment and I felt every ounce of her frustration. I sympathized with her and let her know that I heard her. I reminded her that she is an awesome big sister and I do see her kindness to her sister. As a parent with a chronic illness, I am more emotionally attuned to the needs of my children as a way to compensate for the times when I am physically incapable of showing up. I simply do the best I can when I can. When we got inside our apartment, I took my coat and shoes off as soon as I stepped in, and walked straight into my bedroom. All I wanted to do was lie down. I had nothing to give at that point. I felt completely depleted, so I asked the girls to help themselves with their snacks . I couldn't be on my feet anymore. My body was not cooperating, so I had to navigate this tough day as I always do—with honesty. On my rough days, my girls are only given small responsibilities that they are capable of doing. They know that some days are better than others. I also try not to feel guilty about asking the girls for space and time to rest when I need it. Alex Padurariu/Unsplash Before I was able to fully retreat, we played one round of UNO on my bed. The game diffused all that tension and we were beginning to enjoy each other's company again. They segued into their assigned one hour of pad time, giving me ample time to rest. They were more than excited and it worked out perfectly. My head hit that pillow with a smile, because we all got what we needed, and we rode that emotional wave the best we all could. It turned out to be a beautiful day after all.

It's 5:20 a.m., and my alarm is ringing with the intensity of a steelpan orchestra. The annoying and brain-rattling sound did the job of waking me up for yet another day of work, mothering, and everything in between. I bring my upper body to a sitting position and place my feet down on the carpeted floor. I walk into my bathroom and turn the lights on. Greeting me was the hyperpigmentation and acne that tell a story of struggle from puberty to a woman in her early 40s. I smile at my sleepy face, from a place deeply rooted in gratitude and radical self-love. This is me accepting where I am and seeing the beauty in the whole person with no desire to pick myself apart. I remember the first time I realized I was competing in a race that I did not sign up for. It wasn't a particular day or instance, but the awareness started shortly after puberty. With my raging hormones came acne, something I am convinced I inherited from my paternal side of the family. There I was, panting, chasing, and adjusting to meet an ideal that never belonged to me in the first place. My starting line was being redrawn by the very same hormones that were preparing me for womanhood. It felt more like a setback that would sometimes send me into a downward spiral of unsafe skin care practices. I began to understand the hierarchy, the unspoken rules of who gets seen, who gets praised, and who gets chosen. I wanted to be chosen, but at what cost? Beauty is Never Just Beauty . It is currency, leverage, and identity; it is an ever-expanding checklist of products, treatments, and practices that transformed leisure into labor and self-worth into a transaction. My struggle was acne, and the world dangled a promise before me: if I kept up, if I kept spending, if I stayed vigilant, I could win the ultimate prize of poreless skin—the kind you saw on airbrushed models in beauty magazines. Yours may be something else. But what is the prize? And who was I trying to impress? The moment I quit wasn’t a singular event or a grand gesture of defiance. It was slow, like waking up from a dream and realizing I’d been running for too long without knowing why. I began to see how much of my time, energy, and money was being funneled into an industry designed to capitalize on my doubts. Every step forward was met with a new standard, a new flaw to correct, and a new treatment to undergo. The rules kept changing, the goalposts kept moving, and I was exhausted. I Started Questioning Everything . Was I buying this serum because I genuinely enjoyed using it, or because I had internalized the idea that my bare skin wasn’t good enough? The more I questioned, the clearer it became: I was being played. The beauty industry thrives on insecurity. It cultivates doubt and sells the illusion of control. If I could just fix this one thing—this line, this pore, this hair texture—then I would be happy. But happiness was always postponed, always just one more purchase away. Stepping out of this system wasn’t easy. It meant unlearning the deeply ingrained belief that I needed to optimize my appearance to be worthy. It meant facing the discomfort of feeling “unfinished” when I no longer adhered to the latest beauty standard. It meant navigating the subtle (and not-so-subtle) messages from media, advertising, and even friends and family who still played by the old rules. But with every step back, I reclaimed a part of myself. I started to notice how much freer I felt when I wasn’t calculating my value in terms of external validation. I found beauty in ways that had nothing to do with marketable aesthetics—beauty in stillness, in joy, in connection, in the rich complexity of being a human outside the bounds of a consumer-driven identity. And then Came the Financial Clarity . When I look back at the small fortune I funneled into this relentless pursuit, I am still in disbelief. The weekends spent in an aesthetician's office having my face poked, steamed, and massaged. As much as I enjoyed being pampered, I realized that I willingly surrendered so much of my money to an industry designed to keep me feeling inadequate. How much of my labor had gone into sustaining a system that commodified my very existence? What struck me most was how beauty culture had entered even the spaces meant for relaxation and self-expression. There was no such thing as a neutral activity anymore—every hobby, every leisure pursuit was now an opportunity for self-optimization. Skincare isn't just about hygiene; it is about achieving a glow that signifies youth, health, and desirability. Even simple acts like reading a book or drinking coffee had been transformed into aesthetic moments, meant to be performed rather than lived. I am not a Project . I started to wonder: what would my life look like if I stopped seeing myself as a project? If I allowed myself to simply exist without the pressure to be constantly improving, refining, and presenting? What if I valued my body not as an ornament but as a vessel for experience? What if I spent my money not on perfecting my image, but on things that genuinely enriched my life in ways that didn’t require external validation? For me it was easy, but I can't say that for everyone who feels the pull to put an end to this never-ending cycle. I still feel the occasional pull, to re-enter the race, moments where I second-guess my choices or where I catch myself calculating how I measure up against impossible ideals, but the difference is that I recognize the game for what it is. And I choose not to play. Embracing Authentic Beauty . Stepping away from beauty culture hasn’t made me indifferent to aesthetics or self-care. If anything, it has allowed me to engage with them in a way that feels more authentic and less performative. I still enjoy certain rituals, but they are now acts of pleasure, not obligation. I no longer feel the need to mold myself into these fleeting definitions of beauty. I embrace what suits my values and the lifestyle I want to lead. (Photo from Natasha Brazil/Unsplash)

Love is Blind Season 8 had me tearing up with Virginia and her mother as they shared a beautiful moment during the cast’s wedding dress fitting. I am happy I hung in there to get to this special moment, because this season was challenging and sometimes so frustrating to watch. First, there was Taylor who thought Daniel followed and unfollowed her on Instagram, giving the audience the impression that he may have known who she was the entire time. I am just glad that she did not let her mistake get in the way, because after seeing their parents and how they get along, I am happy they continued with the process. The absolute saddest was watching Lauren who supposedly had a "boyfriend" before coming on the show, fight to keep a relationship with a man who was never ready in the first place. I understood Dave's concerns, but he beat that dead horse to the point of a breakup. His heart wasn’t there yet, and with all that talk of his sister, I was starting to get tired. Oh well! But there I was sobbing with Virginia. The Netflix reality series, hosted by Vanessa and Nick Lachey was set in Minneapolis, Minnesota this season. The show follows a group of singles who go from dating in pods without seeing each other to a proposal and then a big reveal of their prospective partner. Four weeks later, they're walking down the aisle with each other and deciding the next steps in their future. These are high-stakes arranged marriages with a few tweaks to the not-so-novel concept. The show has had quite a few successful marriages and that keeps me watching. It also goes to show that when you're the right person for someone, they do not need five years of your life to figure out they want to marry you if that's what you both want. Well, after that beautiful moment, Virginia handed Devin the prenuptial agreement that I am so glad she was adamant about. To me, that seems like a very logical step for anyone who is going into marriage. No one plans for things to go awry, but if they do, each party has protections. The fact that people still have such negative views of prenuptial agreements in a society where fifty percent end in divorce and even higher in certain groups is baffling. So I say kudos to Virginia for standing on business and not allowing herself to be railroaded into backing out of requesting a prenuptial agreement. Her mama did not raise a fool. In true reality TV fashion, Netflix is leaving us in suspense for another week right at the point where the first couple is at the alter and the bride is asked if love is truly blind. I guess we all have to tune in on Friday to see how it all plays out, especially for Virginia and Devin. I can't wait. Are you looking forward to the season finale of Love is Blind ? (Photos from Netflix)

New York’s Capital District—home to Albany, Schenectady, Troy, and the surrounding areas—might not be the first place that comes to mind when you think of relocating. But if you’re looking for a place that balances city convenience with small-town charm, rich history with modern energy, and affordability with opportunity, this underrated region might just surprise you. I came across a post on Threads from someone wondering if the internet could get them excited about moving to Albany. As a relatively new transplant to the Capital Region myself, I’m still finding my way—but the internet delivered, as it always does, and got them hyped for the move. Seeing that inspired me to share my perspective, because the Capital Region has been exactly what I was looking for—a place that truly fits the lifestyle I’ve always wanted. Here are a few reasons why the Capital District is worth calling home: The Crossroads to the Northeast .The Capital District is well-connected by highways, Amtrak, and Albany International Airport, making weekend getaways or business trips a breeze. Want to visit NYC, Boston, or Montreal? They're 2.5 hours, 3 hours, and 3.5 hours respectively. In 40 minutes you’re in Vermont and Connecticut. I once drove through Vermont and Massachusetts in a little under one hour to pick up an amazing piece of furniture I bought on Facebook Marketplace . You also have the Adirondack within a 45-minute drive up north and 45 minutes south you’re in the Catskills. A Lower Cost of Living (Compared to NYC!) . New York City wore my paycheck down, so the Capital District was a more affordable alternative. Housing costs are significantly lower, and you get more space for your money—whether you’re looking for a charming historic home, a downtown apartment, or a quiet suburban neighborhood. Plus, everyday expenses like groceries and dining out won’t drain your wallet quite as fast. A Perfect Blend of City and Nature . This is the main reason I decided to move to the Capital Region. It is beyond what I could have ever imagined. The stunning autumn foliage, crisp winters for skiing, refreshing springs, and warm summers are perfection in every sense. You can enjoy the energy of downtown Troy, Saratoga, and Schenectady with all their amazing restaurants, and in a short drive be transported to amazing nature preserves and hiking trails. Outdoor Adventures at Your Doorstep . If you're looking to venture out beyond the preserves and shorter trails, you have easy access to stunning state parks and scenic waterways. Whether you’re hiking in Thacher State Park, Saratoga Spa State Park, or Moreau Lake State Park, kayaking on the Hudson or Mohawk Rivers, or escaping to the Adirondacks for a weekend, there’s no shortage of ways to enjoy the outdoors. From waterfalls to mountain trails to peaceful lakes, the region offers year-round adventures for every kind of explorer. You can immerse yourself in what the Capital Region has to offer. Nature Preserve Rich History and Architecture . If you love history, the Capital District is packed with it. Albany, one of the oldest cities in the U.S., boasts stunning 18th- and 19th-century architecture, including the breathtaking New York State Capitol building. Troy, once a booming industrial city, is now a haven for artists and entrepreneurs, with beautifully preserved brownstones and an old-world charm that’s hard to find elsewhere. A Hub for History and Museums . If you love museums and cultural experiences, the Capital District has plenty to explore. Albany is home to the New York State Museum, the oldest and largest state museum in the country, showcasing everything from local history to natural wonders. Albany, one of the oldest cities in the U.S., boasts stunning 18th- and 19th-century architecture, including the breathtaking New York State Capitol building. The Albany Institute of History & Art houses an incredible collection of Hudson River School paintings. It is also home to the USS Slater which offers a fascinating look at a fully restored WWII destroyer escort. Whether you're into art, history, or science, the Capital Region has a museum for you. New York State Capitol Museum A Thriving Arts and Food Scene . The area has a creative and cultural scene that often flies under the radar. Troy and Schenectady have incredible live music venues, independent theaters, and a strong community of artists. Albany hosts concerts, festivals, and a lively nightlife. And the food? From farm-to-table restaurants to legendary pizzerias and craft breweries, there’s no shortage of great eats. Plus, the Troy Farmers Market is one of the best in the state. A Thrifter's Paradise . The capitol district is synonymous with thrifting. It truly is a thrifter's paradise in every sense of the word. Since moving here, I have taken such delight in furniture thrifting. With so many options and such high quality vintage furniture, you can never go wrong. From Captain's Treasure in Clifton Park, Salvation Ary, Habitat ReStore, and my happy place, Facebook Marketplace, there will always be a treasure to find. Apartment Therapy If you’re looking for a place that offers opportunity, affordability, and a great quality of life, the Capital District of NY is worth considering. It’s a region where you can build a career, enjoy nature, and make a home. Have you lived in or visited the Capital District? What’s your favorite thing about it? Let’s chat in the comments!

I landed in New York City in my final year as a teenager. It wasn’t a planned transition, nor was it part of some grand vision I had for my life. My plan was simple: visit my mother, spend time in the city, and return home to my island in the sun. But plans change, and sometimes life has a way of redirecting us before we even realize what’s happening. New York was not unfamiliar to me. I had visited several times since the age of eleven, tagging along on summer trips, soaking in the towering buildings, and the fast-paced streets. But visiting a place and living in it are two vastly different experiences. I never imagined that I would stay, that I would build a life here, that this city of concrete and ambition would become my home. My mother had already made that choice a year before I arrived. She had spent years as part of the invisible labor in one of the more prominent hotels back home in the Caribbean. Then, in an abrupt decision, she left her job without notice and moved permanently to Brooklyn. She sent me the plane ticket she had promised—with the expectation that I would stay. And for a while, I didn’t think I would. I had just completed my A levels. My results weren’t terrible, but they weren’t what I had hoped for either. The idea of starting fresh in New York wasn’t something I had given much thought to, at least not seriously. Four months into my stay, I booked a ticket to return home. But as my departure date approached, my family members encouraged me to stay. New York, they said, had more opportunities. I listened, and I stayed. That decision set me on an unexpected but deeply formative journey—a lengthy career as a domestic worker. Finding My Place in the City . The first few years were a blur of short-term jobs. I worked with various families, often in temporary positions. The work was demanding, but it paid the bills. Then, in 2006, I applied for a position that would become my longest and most stable role. The job was with a family living in the Financial District of Manhattan. I remember getting off at the Brooklyn Bridge stop on the 4 train, walking to the building, and nervously announcing myself at the concierge desk. The family, an expectant couple in their third trimester, lived in a cozy one-bedroom apartment. They were warm and welcoming, and the interview went well. But ultimately, they decided to hire someone else—a candidate recommended by another family in the building. I moved on, taking other jobs, but a few months later, I received a call from the family. Their initial hire hadn’t worked out. They needed someone more engaging for their son. Was I still available? Without hesitation, I accepted. Not only did I need the job, but I was ready for something more permanent. I had worked in daycare centers and afterschool programs before, but I was exhausted by the chaotic environment. I longed for a role where I could give a child my undivided attention. The Work of Care . My responsibilities were straightforward but significant. I took their son to mommy-and-me programs, arranged playdates, prepared his meals, and did his laundry. I became his world outside of his parents. He was a delightful baby—blonde-haired, blue-eyed, with the chubbiest cheeks I had ever seen. He was always in the high percentile for height and weight, and as he grew, he became more energetic, more curious, and more demanding of my time and attention. About eighteen months later, another son joined the family. They kept me active, strengthened my core (quite literally), and filled my days with laughter and exhaustion in equal measure. While I focused on their care, their mother was building her career. There were days when I arrived at work and had no idea what part of the world she was in. She was ambitious, driven, and successful, and my role as her children's caregiver gave her the freedom to pursue those ambitions. For almost seven years, I was a constant presence in their home, a steady figure in their sons' lives, and an integral part of their daily routine. I was paid well for my work, which was not always the case for many domestic workers. I was fortunate in that regard. One day, I saw her on my television screen. Her career had placed her in the public eye for a long time, but this time, she was aligned with one of the most influential women. It was surreal—this woman whose children I had cared for, whose home I had spent years in, was on my screen. I was proud of her, but it also made me reflect on the unseen labor behind the success stories of so many women like her. The Invisible Workforce . I am one of the many Black women and women of color who have, in one way or another, contributed to the careers of women with means and access. We are the nannies, the housekeepers, the caregivers, the ones who ensure that their homes are in order, that their children are well cared for, and that they have the support they need to climb the ladders of success. Every time I see a Hollywood reporter ask a celebrity mom, "How do you do it all?" I cringe. The question itself ignores the reality of the hidden workforce behind the illusion of effortless success. It is a question rooted in privilege and ignorance, a question that disregards the labor of the women who made it possible for these high-achieving women to "do it all." The erasure of domestic workers is not new. It is woven into the fabric of societies that rely on our labor while refusing to acknowledge its value. It is a profession that has long been undervalued, underpaid, and overlooked. And yet, without us, many industries would not function as smoothly as they do. The very women who are celebrated for their achievements need the unseen labor of women like me, because the fact remains, they can't do it all alone . A Life Reimagined . When I think about my journey—from a teenager who planned only a brief visit to New York, to a domestic worker who spent years caring for the children of others—I see resilience. I see the sacrifices my mother made, the choices I had to make, and the unexpected paths that led me to where I am today. Would I have imagined this life for myself? No. But life is rarely what we plan. I built something here. I found purpose in the work I did, even if society often failed to recognize its worth. And while my story is my own, it is also the story of so many women who leave their homes, their countries, their dreams behind to build new lives in foreign cities, taking on roles that are essential but rarely acknowledged. We exist. We work. We matter. And our stories deserve to be told.

I recently stepped into my closet thinking it was time for a wardrobe refresh. I’m not one to chase trends—I naturally gravitate toward timeless pieces. I wasn’t looking for a dramatic overhaul, just a slow and intentional shift toward higher-quality essentials to replace what I already own. As I considered editing my wardrobe, my eyes landed on my wraps and scarves. That’s when it hit me—for most of this winter, I’ve been reaching for head wraps. Head coverings have been woven into my personal style for decades, but in that moment, I realized they weren’t just an accessory; they were the  missing piece. When I wear them, I feel elegant, beautiful, and completely at home in my skin. Headscarves: As Timeless as Style Itself . Across cultures and generations, headscarves have held deep significance. While they can be a simple fashion statement, they’ve also long served a practical purpose—protecting against the elements, especially for those with curly hair. For some, they carry religious or cultural meaning, symbolizing tradition, faith, or personal identity. Whether embraced or misunderstood, wearing a headscarf is an intimate, intentional choice. And for me, they’ve become a signature of my style. Here are seven of my favorite ways to wear a headscarf: Raamin Ka/Unsplash Loose Scarf . Casually draped over the head and shoulders for an effortlessly elegant look. Drape a lightweight or silky scarf over your head, letting the ends hang freely over your shoulders. Adjust the scarf so it loosely frames your face and cascades down your back. You can tuck one side behind your ear for a relaxed, modern feel. Et voilà. For a simple tutorial watch this video from YowItsFariin to 40 seconds. Christian Vierig/Getty Images Low Bun Wrap . You can never lose with a low bun. Perfect for a polished yet relaxed look. I love using a stretchy cotton fabric for this style because it prevents the fabric from slipping as the day goes by. Start by pulling your hair into a low bun at the nape of your neck. Fold a rectangular scarf into a wide band and place it over your head, covering your ears. Cross the ends at the back and wrap them around the bun before securing them with a knot. This look frames the face beautifully for a great finish. Gotham/GC Images Rosette Turban . The twisted floral knot at the crown for a chic and regal statement. Begin by wrapping a long scarf around your head, covering your hair completely. Twist both ends tightly and coil them into a spiral, forming a rosette at the top or side of your head. Tuck the loose ends underneath the wrap for a secure hold. Watch from the one minute to about two minute mark from Inno Manchidi . Yuna/MyIOU Classic Turban . A classic turban is sleek, timeless, and effortlessly chic. It is a great everyday look, but very sophisticated when paired with the right fabric and outfit. Start with a long scarf and place the middle section at the front of your head and tie in one knot. Open in a flattened position and wrap all the way around the head. As you come to the end of the fabric, find a slot to tuck the ends in. Repeat that step for the remaining loose piece of fabric from the other side. Watch Mishka for a step-by-step tutorial on a classic turban . @findingpaola/Instagram High Wrap . The high wrap is piled high for a bold and regal appearance. This is great for any hair length. Gather your hair into a high bun or use a volumizing cap for extra height. Place a long scarf at the nape of your neck and bring both ends to the front. Twist the ends together tightly, then wrap them around the base of your bun before tucking them in securely. Watch this video from Finding Paola for a full tutorial . For long hair check out this video from Mairaly from 3:12 to 3:55. Getty Images Bandana Style . This is a casual, vintage-inspired look that works for any occasion. Fold a square scarf into a triangle and place it over your head. Tie the two longest ends at the nape of your neck or under your chin for a classic finish. Adjust the front for a snug but comfortable fit, leaving a little volume for a softer look. This is truly one of the second most simple ways to wear a scarf. And what really beats a beautifully printed scarf for the spring and summer?! Chance Yeh/Getty Images for Hanley Mellon The Side Knot . This is a playful, asymmetrical take on the headscarf. Fold a rectangular scarf into a wide band and place it at the back of your head. Bring both ends to one side and tie them into a secure knot. Let the ends drape over your shoulder, or tuck them in for a sleek look. To achieve this look watch Tiffany for a great demonstration from 1:44 to the end of the video. Each of these styles brings its own charm, and I love experimenting with them depending on my mood or outfit. Do you wear headscarves? What’s your favorite way to style them? (Feature photo Tim Hunter/Newspix/Getty Images)

After what some may describe as a pretty brutal winter—I live in the northeast—most of us are ready to pack away the coats and everything that resembles the winter hibernation we've all endured. The start of spring means it’s a time to shake off the winter blues and welcome fresh starts, new energy, and all the little joys that come with spring. It’s also a time when Mother Nature does her most beautiful work of bringing everything to life. Whether you’re looking for a meaningful way to embrace the season or just want to soak up the magic of spring by yourself or with loved ones, here are five simple and beautiful ways to celebrate the Spring Equinox. Watch the Sunrise and Set an Intention . The Spring Equinox is all about balance, making it the perfect time to reflect and realign. Wake up early to watch the sunrise, breathing in the fresh energy of a new season. As the golden light washes over the horizon, take a moment to set an intention for the months ahead. What do you want to cultivate? What parts of yourself are ready to bloom? Write it down, speak it aloud, or simply hold it in your heart. Refresh Your Space with a Spring Reset (A Mini One) . Spring cleaning isn’t just about tidying up—it’s a ritual of renewal. Open your windows, let the crisp air flow through your home, and clear out anything that no longer serves you. Swap out heavy winter textures for lighter fabrics, bring in fresh flowers, and declutter your space to make room for new energy. A simple shift in your surroundings can work wonders for your mindset. Spend Time in Nature . Nothing welcomes spring quite like stepping outside and feeling the earth come back to life. Take a walk through a park, sit beneath a blooming tree, or plant something new in your garden. If possible, go barefoot on the grass and reconnect with the earth. The equinox is a time to tune into nature’s rhythms—observe the budding trees, listen to the birds, and soak in the beauty of the changing season. Create a Seasonal Feast . Celebrate spring’s abundance by preparing a meal inspired by the season. Think fresh greens, citrus fruits, honey, and herbs. A simple spring salad, a warm cup of chamomile tea, or a fruit-filled dessert can be a delicious way to honor the shift in energy. If you can, eat outside and savor the flavors with gratitude. Light a Candle to Welcome the Light . The Spring Solstice represents the return of warmth and longer days. Honor this transition by lighting a candle at sunset as a symbolic gesture of welcoming the light. As you do, reflect on what you want to illuminate in your own life—whether it’s creativity, self-love, or a new adventure. KBL Sungkid/Adobe Stock The Spring Equinox is a reminder that life moves in cycles, and each season carries its own wisdom. By celebrating this time with intention, you align yourself with nature’s flow—embracing growth, renewal, and the beauty of new beginnings. How do you like to welcome spring? Let me know in the comments! (Feature photo by Munnangi Rushikanth/Vecteezy)