It's late. Sky and Shedia are fast asleep. I'm lying here in bed reaching for rest, but rest has other plans tonight. So I'm thinking about you. I wonder what you're doing right now on that ship. Whether you're bored out of your mind, staring at open water, or somewhere in the middle of something I'd rather not imagine. I think about whether you're okay. Whether you know we're all holding our breath a little on this side of the world. Mom is definitely worried. When she calls

A new series where I write letters to the people who shaped me before I even knew who I was becoming. I remember you singing in the back seat of the car, sounding exactly like Mariah Carey. Not kind of like her, not doing an impression. You just sounded like that. I tried to chime in, probably on some run I had no business attempting, and someone, maybe Mom, said "Shh, let's hear Dani." I shut up. You kept singing. That's the image that comes to mind when I think about us gro

I often wonder when we will finally rise above our need to divide. The impulse to call out, put down, attack, and belittle: haven’t we outgrown these destructive ideas by now? As a collective, when will we be mature enough to embrace the beauty of diversity. When will we become genuinely curious about the people in the village on the other side of the ridge? Our fear of the unknown runs so deep that we find a false sense of comfort in isolation and name-calling. We build wall

Twelve years in any band is a lifetime in musician years. Honestly, twelve years in any job is a long run, but twelve years touring, rehearsing, recording, laughing, arguing, eating, and growing with the same group of humans is its own kind of beautiful roller coaster. That’s what my time with Bria and the band has been. A ride through so many versions of myself that it feels like I’ve lived a few lives inside this one gig. When I joined the band, I was twenty-eight. I had ju

Lately, I’ve been looking at life from a distance, as if I’m watching through a window instead of standing inside it. When I drive, I sometimes feel like I’m not the one behind the wheel at all. Something deeper is guiding this body, this version of me. It’s a strange feeling, but also a familiar one, like I’ve been trying to remember a truth I once knew and forgot. I keep asking myself what I should be investing in. Is it this body, this character I walk around in every day?

We did not lose privacy in a single dramatic moment. It faded quietly while we were updating apps, scrolling headlines, and syncing our calendars to the cloud. Our phones, cameras, and algorithms did not just capture our lives; they rewrote what it means to be seen. Maybe privacy did not die. Maybe it never truly existed. The Open Curtain Every few months someone says it with a sigh: “Privacy is dead.” And we all nod, not in outrage but in quiet agreement, like we are discuss

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