When I Get Home begins with Solange repeating, “I saw things I imagined.” Within Black communities, repetition is a means of survival. My homie, Michaela, who runs Nu Nu Vintage and guided our discussion on Solange’s fourth studio album, shared how important the oral tradition is for retaining Black histories, pastimes, and cultural memory. We are a storytelling people, and it’s these stories that help us better understand who we are.

When I Get Home centers Solange’s hometown of Houston, Texas. She takes a multilayered approach to this homage, invoking certain sounds, flows, samples, and visual depictions. Ahead of our discussion, we watched Solange’s When I Get Home short film, which serves as a companion to the album. With all of us huddled inside Scatter Joy’s High Street space, we traversed through scenes of Black cowboys, slabs, iced-out teeth, and spaceships. The specificity of these images and the project’s focus makes room for those who dare to sit with their own sense of home.

Houston connects time in really interesting ways, bridging the past, present, and future through lifestyles and landmarks. While Black cowboys invoke a seemingly bygone era that is still here and often overlooked, Houston is also home to NASA’s Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center. In the film, Solange depicts the city’s connection to space travel with a woman dancing around a spaceship before she carries it across the desert. Through these examples of cultural identity, Solange reinforces the longevity and inevitability of Black people. We’ve been here, we’re still here, and we’re not going anywhere. This is art as defiance, reclamation, and proclamation.

We repeat these truths not only to remember, but also to feel. Repetition is one of the key devices often employed in Black churches. From sermons to worship music, meditations become incantations that invite a flood of emotions. Ayana Mathis, who spoke with Solange for The New York Times in 2018, wrote about the artist’s experience of watching fellow churchgoers “catch the spirit.” She described Solange’s reaction as fascination mingled with fear. “Every person who wishes to create art that has meaning must face the Holy Ghost, metaphorically at least,” Mathis added, “she must struggle with whatever she feels called upon to create, the thing that wishes to inhabit her.”

As Solange repeats those opening lines on “Things I Imagined,” the song utilizing an old music technique that pianist Christophe Chassol describes as “speech harmonization,” I look around the room and see dreams that have come true. “I saw things I imagined.” Each time she says it, I look back and remember. “I saw things I imagined.” I think about Zach telling me he wanted to figure out some kind of gathering I could host at Scatter Joy. “I saw things I imagined.” I smile because we made it so. All of us daring to gather around what we love, facing our fears with a sense of curiosity about what this all could become. And what we know now is, it could become home.

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow us on Instagram!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions that Michaela outlined for last night’s When I Get Home discussion:

1. How did this project make you feel? What parts moved you? What didn’t you like? Did you like it on the first listen or did it take a few spins?

2. Why do you think repetition is used so much throughout the album? (repeated phrases, sounds, movements, visuals, etc.) Did it feel meditative? Hypnotic? Affirming? Haunting?

3. How does the project collapse the distance between past, present, and future?

4. How does spirituality become a home for people disconnected from place, lineage, or certainty? How does When I Get Home explore that idea?

Leave a comment

Hope you had a great long weekend and that someone cooked you something nice. Bonus points if it was a glizzy with the grill marks.

I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on June 1st for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music lovers and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, we took a deep dive into Dijon’s second studio album, Baby.

Our next album is Solange’s When I Get Home. My dear friend Michaela Mason () suggested this project and will be guiding our conversation. This month, we’ll screen the When I Get Home short film at 7pm and continue with our regularly scheduled discussion at 7:30pm.

RSVP here

When I Get Home is Solange’s fourth studio album. Released in March 2019, the album follows up the Houston native’s critically acclaimed record, A Seat at the Table. Narrated by Black women that she grew up with, When I Get Home is a love letter to Solange’s hometown and her upbringing in the Black South. Christophe Chassol, a well-respected pianist who Solange worked with on When I Get Home, said about the album: “She wanted to make a statement.”

This Saturday, May 30th, you’re invited to join us for Listening Room. These informal gatherings provide us an opportunity to sip coffee together and listen to our featured album ahead of each Album Club meeting. No RSVP needed. Just show up as yourself, and start your weekend off right!

Solange’s catalog requires its own curriculum, but here are a few links to get you started. Thanks to , , , , , , and some folks on Threads for sharing their suggestions. You can check out more and drop your own recommendations here!

• Acceptance Speech: 70th Parsons Benefit

• Community Library: Saint Heron

• Essay: A LETTER TO MY TEENAGE SELF (Teen Vogue)

• Essay: And Do You Belong? I do (Saint Heron)

• Essay: Reflections on Stillness, Joy, and the Year That Changed Everything (Harper’s BAZAAR)

• Essay: Runaway Bay (Dazed)

• Interview: A Creative Roundtable with CHANEL

• Interview: AnOther

• Interview: Apartamento

• Interview: PIN-UP

• Interview: Rolling Stone

• Interview: The Daily Show

• Music Video: Cranes in the Sky

• Music Video: Don’t Touch My Hair

• Music Video: LOSING YOU

• Podcast: Song Exploder

• TV Show: Random Acts of Flyness (HBO)

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. We just ask that you RSVP in advance, so we can plan accordingly. Hope to see you there!

Reserve your spot

The gentle nudge. I think this is maybe the most important lesson of my adult life.

I sat in yoga class as the teacher invited us to focus on our intentions. “If your mind begins to wander,” she said, “just gently nudge it back to center.”

It’s so easy to be hard on ourselves. For our self-talk to get angry and abusive. But this felt like an invitation to treat myself gently, to give myself grace. It told me that I’m worthy of kindness and care. Now, I practice this in ways I’m conscious of and sometimes don’t recognize. It has become embedded in my living.

The Shorty Awards nudged me back to who I am. I got to present at this year’s ceremony in addition to serving on the jury panel.

I’ve worked in social media marketing for over a decade. Throughout that time, I’ve been part of many projects across multiple industries: nonprofit, food and beverage, and corporate retail. I’ve gotten promoted into different roles and adopted new career paths. Most of my career has been in social media strategy, but I moved into creative marketing and social art direction ahead of last year.

Having never lived in huge markets like New York and LA, I’ve felt behind at times. Maybe I’d be further along in my career if I lived in a big city full of agencies and corporate headquarters.

But I also think about the life I’ve been able to make by not living in these places. The slower pace. The time I get to have at home instead of sitting in traffic or jumping between subway lines trying to make it back. My career not becoming my entire life. The chance to go and start things with other people.

Noah Kahan’s latest album, The Great Divide, examines the gaps between perception and reality. In other words, the “divides” in our lives. The disconnects in our thoughts and emotions. “Porch Light,” like several songs on the album, finds Kahan reckoning with his newfound fame and celebrity. He worries what the folks back home think—in this case, his mother. Writing from what he believes to be her perspective, Kahan refers to himself as a ghost, as someone who isn’t there. He worries that his parents regret his career and how he’s written parts of their personal lives into the music.

Kahan expands on this in his Netflix documentary, Out of Body. He apologizes to his mother for not asking permission to include their family in his music, but she tells him not to worry. She’s happy to see her son’s success and loves how people can see themselves in his songs and within their family’s imperfect lives. For Apple Music, Kahan shared how he didn’t have the full story:

“I always worried that my mom felt or my family felt like I wasn’t myself anymore and that I was just some ghoul that would come in to extrapolate further success or further emotion for my own gain. The truth is my mom never felt that way. She always felt she always showed me love and showed me patience and understood the gravity of what I was going through.”

I often tell myself stories without having all the information. I came into the Shorty Awards feeling like I was behind my peers only to realize that I’m right in it with them. The presenters held dream roles at recognizable companies, and there I was at the same table with all of them, so I guess I do, too.

Among the presenters was my homie, , who I first connected with on Twitter back in 2018. We knew each other as writers first only to find ourselves, eight years later, still writing and building local arts communities but also excelling in our corporate careers.

At times, I can feel like I’m missing out by not picking a lane. Like I’m not able to show up fully in anything. That I’d be a more prolific writer if I only focused on writing, pitching, and promoting my work. That I’d be further along in my career if I had less boundaries to protect my personal life and creative energy.

But I remember the words my parents shared that made me grimace when I was job hunting during my senior year of college. They said, you can still pay your bills and do the things you want to do. In other words, get a job and pursue your passions outside of work.

I was under the impression that my job needed to fulfill my passions and values. When you’re a creative person or want to help other people, this means you’re probably not making a lot of money. I thought it would cheapen my life to get a job that didn’t fully capture all my passions.

Now, 10 years into my career, having worked “dream” jobs and pursuing my passions at work and outside of it, I know that it’s less about where you live your values; it’s most important that you have them.

I want to be good, and I want my people to be good. I want all of us to have everything we need. I carry these principles with me.

This understanding that “all flourishing is mutual,” in the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer, guides my politics, life decisions, and interpersonal relationships. When the temptations of individualism and cruelty lure me away, I gently nudge myself back home. To the things I know to be true.

I don’t dream of career accolades. I dream of doing right by my people and maintaining the best parts of me along the way. I can’t force myself into becoming the best version of me. I don’t even want to be someone else. Can I love me enough to accept me for me? To believe that I’m worthy of grace and gentleness when my mind begins to wander?

It’s not a failure to lose sight of my intentions. Distraction isn’t worthy of punishment; it shouldn’t disqualify me from receiving kindness. It’s human to get sidetracked. To get lost in what everyone else is doing. But when I come home, I’m reminded that I’m not behind them. We’re all in it together, looking toward each other to remember where we belong.

Thank you!

I appreciate you reading! If you enjoyed, please share it with someone special.

• Was this forwarded to you? Sign up here to receive my next newsletter directly in your inbox.

• Support the newsletter: If you’d like to support my work, consider becoming a Paid subscriber to Feels Like Home or buying me a coffee.

• Stay connected: For more content and updates, follow me on Substack, Instagram, and Threads.

Early morning whispers in the
perked up ears of our little visitor

Our friendly neighborhood visitor

The instructions are simple:
“Rest and digest”

I find the chipmunk sitting atop
our front step, taking in the day

He listens intently while his
body slows to a halt

I, too, pause my ripping and
running to drink in the sight

I saw more than a child should’ve
But I never saw a chipmunk
Not before moving here

Now I look forward to our
morning meetings

No Teams notifications
No talk of AI

Just a sweet little face whose
nose wrinkles against the wind

I ask him his plans
What’s next for the day

He returns what’s been whispered
And encourages me to do the same

Today is my 32nd birthday. If my writing has ever blessed you in some way:

1. Share it.

2. Become a Paid subscriber.

3. Buy me a coffee.

4. Tell me about it.

Share

“The songs will save us” isn’t just a tagline; it’s a recognition that music has met many of us in our darkest times. It’s also a belief that, when we gather around things we love — in this case, music — we gain a better understanding of the world we want to live in and consider how we might make it more of a reality in the here and now.

Get yours now

Selfishly, I was super excited when I saw multiple people suggested Dijon’s Baby for The Album Club. It was one of my favorite releases from last year and an album that I would’ve forced a discussion on even if nobody recommended it. But thankfully, my friend Heba was down to lead the conversation and did so beautifully. Her questions centered not only on her own experience with the album, but also how others experienced it.

I remember sitting at the Jersey Shore the weekend of my little brother’s 21st birthday when Baby first came out. I snuck it on while we relaxed at the dock, but Dijon’s second studio album isn’t necessarily background music. Baby is abrasive. It’s jarring at times. The production, and even Dijon’s voice, aren’t made to be passive; they’re geared toward disruption.

This is fitting as Baby is an ode to Dijon’s firstborn, who shares the same name as the album. I’m not a parent, but I know that having a child is beautifully disruptive. Not to equate the experiences, but even having a cat, I know that I can’t always plan for the type of love he’ll need or when he’ll need it. Sometimes, my cat throws up, and I have to spring into action—or I can be texting, and next thing I know, he’s nudging my phone out the way, so I can give him my full attention.

For all of its staggers and jolts, Baby mirrors the zigzags of loving what’s yours. From what I’ve collected about parenthood, it’s messy; it’s experimental. You’re trying things as you go. What worked one day might not work the next. We talked about Dijon’s live performances and how he and his band create different arrangements, often transforming songs from their original recordings to where they’re sometimes unrecognizable. Such is raising not only one child, but “Another Baby” as Dijon foreshadows on the album’s second track.

At times, Baby is loud and eclectic, but so is life. And there are points when you hit a groove. “Baby, I’m in love with this particular emotion / And it’s sweet, you in this particular motion.” Or there are moments when it’s quiet and sweet like Dijon on “loyal & marie.” But the point is that love doesn’t take one shape. As Heba summed up so well, “Perfection does not mean it’s perfect.”

For many of us, we don’t come to Dijon for a “vibe.” We come to his music because it reminds us of life. He gives voice to the tension we feel. And when he yells, we remember how we haven’t yelled in a while, and maybe it’d be good to let it out. Maybe there’s something on the other side of all this. A payoff. A “Kindalove” that can’t be put into words, so all you have left is exclamation points !!!

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow us on Instagram!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions that Heba outlined for last night’s Baby discussion:

1. Is there a moment where the “mess” on Baby feels truer to you than a polished version of the album ever could?

2. If you were going to pick a song from Baby that represents you, what would it be & why?

3. When you listened to Baby for the first time, did listening to the album bring you back to yourself or was it a tribute to someone else?

4. Where did you notice intimacy on this album? Did it compare to a traditional understanding of intimacy, or was it different?

Leave a comment

Welcome to Take It or Leave It. Pretty much every month, Paid subscribers will receive a quick hit of things I’m loving. But this installment is free for everyone.

If you’d like to receive these recommendations in your inbox, please consider becoming a Paid subscriber.

If not, all good. Take it or leave it ✌️

Subscribe now

Taurus season is starting with a bang. My birthday is less than two weeks away, but it feels like this past week was the birthday with everything that went live. But before we get into that, the past month has been action-packed. I spoke on a social media panel with Elizabeth. That was the first time we’ve ever gotten to do something like that together. A tree fell on our fence, so that was wild. I went to Austin for a creative retreat. It’s probably my favorite thing I’ve done in a while, and I wrote more about it here. Traveled to Indy for the men’s Final Four and National Championship. All my teams lost, but at least we had fun. Then, that brings us to this past week.

I’ve heard people talk about how there’s New Year’s, and then, there’s the real new year. That’s how this past week has felt. I spent the first few months of the year chipping away at a few things. Now, I see what I was working toward. I had a lot of fun things come out this week, so I’ll drop a list below just in case you missed them:

1. For ’s Track Ten newsletter, I wrote an essay about the throughline of R&B and Black music in Justin Bieber’s career. This is my contribution to Resurrection, a collaborative collection with Eric, , and that traces moments in pop stars’ careers when they rise from the ashes. I had fun writing on Journals and how it makes SWAG possible.

Track Ten

The Question of Justin Bieber's Soul | Track Ten: Resurrection

If you’re reading Track Ten for the first time, welcome! Today’s essay by Alex Lewis is part of Resurrection, my collaborative collection which traces moments in which pop stars rise from the ashes, whether th…

Read more

2 months ago · 18 likes · 8 comments · Eric and Alex Lewis

2. interviewed me for her newsletter’s Well Worn series. She asked me several questions about bravery that made me think deeply and gave some clarity about myself. I think you should read it, but don’t just take it from me. said:

   “Wow wow wow. I devoured this! Alex is new to me but I immediately went and subscribed. Such beautiful words about bravery, had me tearing up.”

i think it's brave:

well worn: alex lewis

This week, we are joined by Alex Lewis, a writer who has been on Substack since 2023, and whose trajectory is due to a lot of hard work, consistency and community building. I remember the first time I went back and forth with Alex on Substack, it was over Love Island. I thought to myself, who is this man, so fervently knowledgeable about this reality show!? Then …

Read more

2 months ago · 32 likes · 9 comments

3. My dear friend Jaden Shah, one of the people who has helped shape The Album Club from the beginning, invited me to curate a playlist for his radio show, WaveSpace. That episode is out today, and I hope you love it. I’ve had the playlist on repeat in my personal life and think you’ll enjoy it, too.

Also, I interviewed Julien and Justen Turner of Dreadhead Films for my debut on the Experience Columbus blog. The Turner brothers premiered the comedy pilot for their show, FreeLance, at Sundance earlier this year. I’m thankful I got to share how Columbus has played an integral part in their story.

Alright, that’s all the plugs. I love you and hope you have a wonderful week. More goodness below.

If you’re new to my newsletter and would like to get my essays and recommendations sent directly to your email inbox, tap below to sign up for a Free or Paid subscription to Feels Like Home:

Subscribe now

If you can’t commit to a Paid subscription but still want to support me and my work, here’s my Buy Me a Coffee page.

🎤 Dave’s Power 106 Freestyle

Hanif shared this on his Instagram Story, and man, I’m so glad I tapped in. There’s a lot of talk about entering “flow state” right now, but this is exactly that. Dave blacks tf out for damn near seven minutes. I want you to go listen for yourself, but here are a few of the lines that made me smile like Keith David:

• “If I pass down my hustle, I can leave my kids nothin’ and they still be rich”

• “I need antidepressants for the doors on my cars”

• “We do Indian when it suits her, like Kamala Harris”

• “I ain’t even bein’ sassy, but I really ate with that”

📖 The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Shoutout to for putting me on to this book. It starts with one of my favorite quotes from Robin Wall Kimmerer: “All flourishing is mutual.” She goes in depth on the “gift economy,” which she views not only as an ethic of reciprocity, but as a reshaping of our entire world. A revolt against imperialist, white-supremacist capitalist patriarchy. Kimmerer asks one of the more important questions of our time: “When an economic system actively destroys what we love, isn’t it time for a different system?”

I’m so grateful this book exists and appreciate how it gives an abundance of language for what it means to show up for each other and choose interdependence over individualism.

🥤 Shirley Temple prebiotic sodas

Elizabeth and I are known to sometimes forgo the fancy cocktail when we go out to dinner and order Shirley Temples instead. Yes, we’re aware of the ever-alluring Dirty Shirley. But sometimes you just want the syrupy goodness of grenadine floating around an ice-cold Sprite. One-to-two Maraschino cherries, of course. I’d go on record to say it’s maybe the drink of my lifetime. A friend that has stuck by my side since early days at the kids’ table.

What is inner child work if not co-opting my adolescence for the purposes of gut health? The new craze of Shirley Temple-flavored prebiotic sodas has descended upon our home like the plague of locusts. We taste-tested three different brands: Poppi, Bloom Pop, and the most confusing one, Stiller’s, which I guess is Ben Stiller’s soda brand? Who knew? No one needs to know because it’s bad. But I actually really like the Poppi and Bloom Pop versions.

Elizabeth’s favorite is Bloom Pop. I prefer Poppi, but the Bloom Pop is a close second. The caf at the office is stocked with Poppis, so they’re my work friends. And then we keep a case of Bloom Pops at the house, so they’re who I come home to. Both are good. Both are necessary. All of them aren’t the real thing.

🥰 Jill Scott & Tyler

When Jill Scott told Tyler, “You look like you’ve been loved,” I felt that. What a beautiful thing to see in someone and speak to them. This whole conversation is a balm. I love how they see each other throughout. I love the mutual admiration they have for one another. The smiles they bring out of each other. Jill telling Tyler that her son is dope and reminds her of him. Tyler eating that up. This is intergenerational. This is reaching backward, reaching forward, resting in the warm embrace of Black artistry.

🏜️ “We got Coachella at home”

Let’s start with a confession: I stayed up for Bieberchella two weekends in a row.

The second confession is that I’m happy I did.

And the third confession: I’m still suffering the consequences.

I don’t have too many things to say about the Justin Bieber performance that haven’t already been said (or that I haven’t already written about), but I do think it was the perfect way to honor this current stage in his career and where he came from, as well as the fans that have supported him from the start.

It was good to see Justin approach these weekends thoughtfully, especially within his preparation. Touring has been an Achilles’ heel for Justin throughout his career. I’m sure part of that had to do with the people he had around him—many of which he’s since cut ties with. But instead of pushing himself to exhaustion, Justin picked his spots. He did trial run performances on Twitch and did a small run of LA shows leading up to Coachella, and of course, there was his Grammys performance. It all paid off with the most confident version of Justin we’ve seen in a while. I’m not fully opposed to a tour if that’s what he wants to do, but I hope he took notes from Kendrick & SZA and pops up in a few major cities instead of doing a full-blown world tour. Ease in, and enjoy the moment.

My surprise for the weekend was ZULAN’s set. I had never heard of the Argentinian DJ, but I shot up as soon as I heard snippets of “4EVER” and “Gasolina.” ZULAN had a whole crew of festival attendees behind her like a Boiler Room set while she vibed out in a vintage Boca Juniors jersey. The energy was infectious, and so was ZULAN’s festival look. I ended up snagging my own CABJ kit on Depop. Only issue is they spelled “Maradona” wrong. And that’s why I still stand behind Depop being the bravest place to shop on the internet. Joke’s on me, I guess.

A few other highlights from my two-week binge of Coachella livestreams:

• Dijon and Mk.gee on Weekend 1 (and them both popping out during Bieber’s performance)

• Turnstile, plus extra points for how lit the crowd was

• GIVĒON bringing out Kehlani to sing “Folded” and looking so giddy the entire time

• Kacey Musgraves with the surprise set at Weekend 2

• Addison bringing out Olivia Rodrigo to sing “drop dead”

Sleeper pick: Teddy Swims and Joe Jonas singing “When You Look Me in the Eyes”

I hope someone told you they love you today. If not, hear it from me: I love you. Then, go look in the mirror and say it again.

I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on May 4th for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music nerds and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, we paid tribute to D’Angelo and his seminal album, Voodoo.

Our next album is Dijon’s Baby. The homies & suggested this project and will be guiding our discussion. Come through for your new favorite hangout!

RSVP here

Baby is Dijon’s second studio album. Released last August, Baby follows up the Maryland native’s 2021 debut album, Absolutely, with an ode to his wife and their son, Baby. In reaching for vanguards like D’Angelo and Radiohead, Dijon starts from a place of messing everything up. Instead of perfection, he chases feeling and lets emotion seep through every pore. Dijon follows the moment wherever it may lead—and in turn, he establishes new moments and creative standards that artists will chase for years to come.

Starting this Saturday, April 25th, we’re launching The Album Club: Listening Room on the last Saturday of every month. These informal gatherings will provide us an opportunity to sip coffee and listen to our featured album ahead of each Album Club meeting. No RSVP needed. Just show up as yourself, and start your weekend off right!

Dijon is a universe unto himself, but here are a few links to better understand him as an artist and his latest album, Baby. Thanks to , , , and more for sharing their suggestions. You can check out more and drop your own recommendations here!

• Essay: Feels Like Home

• Interview: Apple Music

• Interview: Over/Under for Pitchfork

• Interview: Producer Tommy King for Dead Wax

• Interview: Thoughtseize

• Performance: “Another Baby!” on SNL

• Performance: “HIGHER!” on SNL

• Performance: “Kindalove” at Coachella 2026

• Profile: Brick Magazine

• Profile: Pitchfork

• Review: Shatter the Standards

• Short Film: Absolutely

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. We just ask that you RSVP in advance, so we can plan accordingly. Hope to see you there!

Reserve your spot

When you faint, there’s no worrying about who’s not there.

I’ve passed out on airplanes and in restaurants and at my homie’s crib, which is to say I’ve opened my eyes to all kinds of people.

There was the horror on the face of my little sister as she ran from the sight of my vomit-covered shoes. There was the physician with the annoying kids and the ER nurse who rubbed Elizabeth’s back and told her it was going to be okay. Her and her family offered to cover our dinner before the restaurant owner told them it was on him. He got Elizabeth’s number so he could make sure everything was okay, and weeks later, we sent him a box of ice cream to say thank you for everything.

Just recently, I’ve started to realize how deeply disorienting it is to not be in control of my body. I have very little understanding of what my body does when I faint and no sense of what’s happening around me. In most cases, I just wake up to help.

The help usually comes in a series of rushed questions, but it’s help nonetheless.

What’s your name? Where are you? What day is it?

Elizabeth knew I’d be alright when the paramedic asked me who the president was and I spat back his name with the venom only one can produce when that president wants to grind you and your people into a powder that has no chance at concealing his burnt leather face.

I didn’t get a choice of who was there or what I’d be met with when I opened my eyes. There is no who’s who or what’s what. Who is who, and what is what, and I am simply lying before you in a pool of sweat wondering if this is real life or a dream.

I’ve asked that same question during the past few days. After two years of my homie telling me I should go, I finally gave in and traveled to Austin for a creative retreat he hosts. I was joined by other artists, and all he asked is that we were open to better understanding ourselves and each other.

On the first night, we went one by one and told everybody something about ourselves. I shared with most folks that I’m a chronic fainter. I had no reason for sharing this other than inadvertently explaining all the water I’d be drinking and, as a result, my many bathroom trips. They shared themselves with me and kept sharing themselves with me, and I lingered on the last night despite my early flight because I wanted to keep hearing their laughs and stories and soak up what I could.

In trying to communicate how concerning these fainting spells are but also how mundane they can be, I shared about the time I fainted on a plane and no one noticed. I woke up in a cold sweat, and it was the first time I didn’t wake up to a frenzy. Even though I dread the chaos, I know that, if I was with these people, they’d see me. I wouldn’t be the tree that falls in the woods with no one to hear. We’d make a sound.

When my friend asked me to go on this retreat, I didn’t ask who’s going to be there. I rarely do. Fainting has taught me that who’s there is there, and I don’t have much of a say in who will be there for me. My very living is a belief that there will be helpers.

And this week, I saw something I think I’ve always known: artists see.

Thank God for the artists—the ones who are there.

I hope that, wherever you are, you’re feeling the sun on your face. I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on April 6th for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music nerds and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, we discussed Saint Cloud by Waxahatchee, and I still can’t stop myself from listening.

Our next album is D’Angelo’s Voodoo. My dear friend suggested this project and will be guiding our discussion. Come through for your new favorite hangout!

RSVP here

Voodoo is the second of three albums released by D’Angelo during his lifetime and is largely considered to be the musician’s magnum opus. Released at the top of the millennium in January 2000, Voodoo reaches into the past while guiding us toward the future. D’Angelo, originally from Richmond, Virginia, sidestepped the “neo-soul” label in favor of making what he referred to as “Black music.” With the heartbreaking news of his death last October at the age of 51, Voodoo becomes even more crucial as we cherish the gift of D’Angelo’s living.

This is hardly skimming the surface, but here are a few links to better understand D’Angelo & Voodoo. Thanks to , , , and more for sharing their suggestions. Included a few of my favorite tributes from & !

• Essay: Clarissa Brooks for Chaotic Good

• Essay: Questlove for Rolling Stone

• Essay: Shanté for things i collected

• Documentary: Devil’s Pie

• Docuseries: Bonnaroo SuperJam 2012

• Interview: Red Bull Music Academy

• Liner Notes: Voodoo Vinyl Re-Release

• Music Video: Untitled (How Does It Feel)

• Performance: Live at North Sea Jazz Festival (2015)

• Podcast: 60 Songs that Explain the 90s

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. We just ask that you RSVP in advance, so we can plan accordingly. Hope to see you there!

Reserve your spot

Welcome to the new Take It or Leave It. Every month, sometimes a few times a month, Paid subscribers will receive a quick hit of things I’m loving.

Most of my writing is long-form and requires time for research between essays. Hopefully, this helps fill in the gaps for you with new finds (or things you want to revisit).

If not, all good. Take it or leave it ✌️

Share

Me and were grabbing coffee the other day, and she asked me how I was doing. I try to avoid “busy” as the default answer, but a generous reframing is that my life is very full. I told Jessica how I have a few key commitments, but they are things I care about deeply. I enjoy putting time and energy into them and try to keep them as sacred as I can.

I feel committed to art at this time. Our practice of it. Our participation in it. Our gathering around it. Lucille Clifton said she thinks that “most artists create in order to explore, not to give the answers.” She continued, “Poetry and art are not about answers to me; they are about questions.”

As the United States and Israel continue their imperial war on the world, including all of us, I look to art as a way to better understand myself and the people around me. I look to art as a way to question what I’ve been handed and explore possibilities beyond it. I look to art, as Ross Gay does, as the “process by which we imagine the lives that we want.”

In Columbus, there’s been an ongoing push to maximize capital at the expense of art. Scott Woods recognizes that “Columbus isn’t special in this respect.” He adds, “America as a whole spends very little on the art that it generates.”

As artists, we find a way to keep showing up for ourselves and each other even when our city officials don’t. I get to see it in big and small ways nearly every day. Art remains because we remain, and I hope we can fight to make our remaining easier in the days and months and weeks ahead.

In case you missed it, my latest newsletter essay dives into Justin Bieber’s career and examines his 2026 Grammys performance as a response to it all. This is now one of my top-10 most popular essays, and it’s received endorsements like this one from :

“I love how you’re always able to weave the personal into culture and make it relatable to us all! Your writing is a gift, I loved reading every word of this.”

If you’re new to my newsletter and would like to get my essays and monthly obsessions sent directly to your email inbox, tap below to sign up for a Free or Paid subscription to Feels Like Home:

Subscribe now

💿 Everywhere Isn’t Texas by August Ponthier

I’m back on my bullshit (aka trying to thoughtfully listen to as much new music as I can). My recent favorite that I’ve been recommending to anyone who might entertain it is ’s new album, Everywhere Isn’t Texas. I didn’t realize when I first listened, but Ponthier is featured on one of my favorite songs from last year: “Jesus and John Wayne” with & googly eyes.

The country-pop artist, who came out as non-binary before finishing the album, explores themes of home and belonging that fit right in with songs from Oladokun and Hayley Williams that I highlighted in this essay. On the surface, there are glimpses of other twangy pop stars, such as Kacey Musgraves, Taylor Swift, Chappell Roan, and Sabrina Carpenter. But Ponthier’s superpower is their relatability.

On “Ribbons + Taxes,” the young adult anthem, Ponthier sings, “Right now, my mom would be a wife, but I’d feel like a child bride.” So many of us are trying to make sense of our place in a world that, as Ponthier notes, feels like it’s ending. This album, at least, provides us with a soundtrack to see it through.

🏀 Bam Adebayo’s 83-Point Game

I didn’t watch the game, but I felt it. The push notifications on my phone felt like the sizzle, then just like that chef used to say: “BAM!” The record books were cooked. Whenever a player starts inching toward Kobe’s 81-point milestone, there’s always this question of “what if they do it?” But everyone has fallen short—that is, until A’ja Wilson’s boyfriend caught a vibe and made it everyone else’s problem (mainly the Washington Wizards).

Read more

On the first Monday of every month, I gather with a room full of people here in Columbus, Ohio, to discuss an album in depth. Together with my friends at The Scatter Joy Project, we introduced The Album Club back in October 2025 as a way to create more opportunities for togetherness and connection. Since then, we’ve hosted genre-spanning conversations on projects like Bon Iver’s SABLE, fABLE and Ravyn Lenae’s Bird’s Eye.

I first learned about album clubs — or “book clubs, but for music” — on Substack. I tapped in with when I saw his chordinnate album club was hosting a virtual conversation on Bon Iver’s first and last albums. As a fan of these records, I decided to give it a try. What I found was a group of people who were passionate about music and shared interesting perspectives I hadn’t thought about before. I felt free to geek out and knew I’d do whatever I could to be at the next one.

From virtual discussions to trying my hand at in-person gatherings, I’ve seen a genuine excitement for album clubs. Here in Columbus, we’ve had a waitlist for every meeting. As people have caught wind of these events, I’ve started hearing from folks in different cities who want to start their own. If this is you, here are some questions for you to consider as you begin exploring what’s possible.

1. Is there an Album Club that already exists?

When starting anything, my first question is whether something like it is already happening. While I’m comfortable leading, I don’t need to be the one in charge. I can gain just as much—if not more—by participating in different communities. I think we miss out when we jump to lead instead of supporting organizations that are already in motion and helping them thrive.

While I saw local record stores hosting listening parties, which I love attending when I can, I wasn’t aware of any album discussion groups in town. This felt like a gap we could help fill. I’m still involved with the chordinnate album club and join their virtual meetings when I’m available. Although I can’t always make it to different community events, I love supporting good people doing good things—even if it’s just a repost or sending announcements to friends.

I recommend doing a quick search for whatever you’re looking for. When I began to consider starting my own Shut Up & Write chapter, I reached out to different writers and literary friends in the city. I asked them if they knew of anything like what I was proposing. While there are a couple other Shut Up & Write groups, there were none that met close to downtown.

You might attend an online or in-person album club and find that it doesn’t align with your interests or values. That’s okay. At least you gave it a try. And maybe, by you sticking around, they’ll evolve in ways that weren’t on their radar before. You might also find a different set of people you can reach with your club.

2. In-person or virtual?

There’s no wrong answer here. It’s really up to you. I’ve found a lot of value in both types of album clubs—and there’s even a secret third thing: hybrid. From listening parties I’ve attended, I saw how powerful it is to be in the same room experiencing music together. But I’ve also gained a lot of value from virtual discussions and love that I can participate from the comfort of my couch.

I lucked out with a location for The Album Club because Scatter Joy has its own third-space storefront. I have a homie who’s looking to begin hosting an album club at the bar where he works. Another one of my friends, , hosts in-person music discovery events at Vowels’ showroom in downtown New York City.

Depending on your vibe, there are a lot of ways you can go. It can be open to the public or as intimate as dinner with friends. One of the things I loved when leading a virtual album discussion last October is that friends from all over the country got to join. I had homies from New York, North Carolina, and Salt Lake City all on the same call. At the end of the day, what is going to be most conducive for the conversations you want to have and the environment you want to create?

3. How are you picking your albums?

“Choosing an album isn’t easy,” wrote Paste Magazine’s Josh Jackson for a story on album clubs. He’s not wrong. There’s so much music out there and so many directions you can go. That’s why I’ve done two things since starting The Album Club: (1) I don’t lead every discussion, and (2) I ask people to share an album they want everyone to listen to.

Dave of the chordinnate album club inspired me to tap other people to suggest albums and lead the discussion. I know that my reference points are limited. While I enjoy listening to different genres, there’s so much music that I haven’t listened to—and I love learning what others are into. ’s discussion on Baby Rose’s To Myself helped me recall a collaboration I heard of hers with BadBadNotGood. I also made the connection with her appearances on Dreamville’s Revenge of the Dreamers III.

Knowing I wanted to open the floor to other attendees, I created a QR code flyer that reads, “What’s an album you want everyone to listen to?” I place the flyers around the room during Album Club meetings and prompt people to share their suggestions. There’s also an option for people to note whether they’d like to lead a future discussion. Over the past few months, we’ve received nearly 100 sign-ups and album recommendations.

When building out the schedule, I’m mindful of picking a diverse group of discussion leads whose album suggestions maintain good variety in gender, ethnicity, and genre. Especially since we’re early on, I try to strike the balance of curating a lineup of artists that aren’t too obscure and still keeping it interesting with plenty of opportunity for conversation. As we go, we’ll take some risks and continue testing the limits of what’s possible.

4. Listen to the album or just discuss?

This is really a question about how you want to structure your time. There are so many different ways to interact with our favorite albums, and it’s simply a matter of what’s most meaningful to you and your community. We structure The Album Club similar to most book clubs where we listen to the album prior to the meeting, then come together to discuss it. There are other album clubs that are more focused on listening to records together.

The best advice I can give is to stay open to how your community might evolve over time. From the beginning, I told people that I’m along for the ride just as much as they are. I thought, when first starting The Album Club, that we’d break everybody into smaller group discussions. We tried it for the first meeting, and it went well. But there was a desire to hear from more people. During the next meeting, we ended up with one large group around the shop. I was worried the conversation may not be as intimate, but people really opened up. We haven’t turned back since.

Be open to surprises. Just because you’ve done it a certain way doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it that way. When you ask your community what they think, you might hear ideas you’ve never thought of. This is the beauty of building these spaces together. This is when it goes from being yours to ours.

5. How often are you meeting?

This question is dependent on a few different factors, but I really want to focus on making the cadence work for you. You don’t start an album club if you don’t want to be at the meetings. You want to be there as much as you can, which means it needs to work with your schedule. Album clubs should be sources of joy; they shouldn’t add to the burnout we’re pushed toward in so many other areas of our lives. You don’t want to bite off more than you can chew.

Overextending myself was my biggest worry about starting The Album Club, but I knew I could commit to meeting once a month. With organizing events, I’ve found that it’s easiest to plan around these gatherings when they happen in regular intervals. By meeting on the same day each month, hopefully, this allows for more consistency—and with consistency comes community.

Depending on your capacity and the appetite of people in your community, you can, of course, meet more often. But you’ll want to ensure that you’re not sacrificing the quality of your club by adding more meetings. What’s most important, at the end of the day, is that you and your people are comfortable being yourselves and gathering around what you love together.

This is meant to provide you with thought starters as you begin dreaming what your album club can be. I’ve shared some of what I’ve learned and encourage others to do the same. If you started an album club or have participated in one, please share in the comments what you’ve found helpful or really enjoyed!

Leave a comment

I started last night with a question: how can we talk about music at a time like this? This is a riff on another question that Ross Gay once received from a white woman at one of his readings: how can a Black man write about flowers at a time like this? Hanif Abdurraqib addressed this question in his poetry book, A Fortune For Your Disaster. And I asked us to sit with this idea to kick off Album Club.

Inherent in these lines of thinking is the reality that there have been times, there will be times, and this is certainly a time. We’re not new to violence or war or imperialism or death or dying children or unnecessary displays of power. In fact, these are hallmarks of living in the belly of the beast. However trivial they may be, we talk about music and flowers because we’re more than what we’ve been handed.

As Ross Gay told NPR’s Brittany Luse, “Gathering around what we love might, in fact, be the process by which we imagine the lives that we want.” Said another way, also by Gay, “Noticing what we love in common, and studying that, might help us survive.”

Last night, my friend and fellow Substacker invited us to share in her love for Waxahatchee’s Saint Cloud, and I want the beauty we experienced in that room — the openness, the togetherness, the curiosity! — to permeate our world. To be something we aspire to.

, who has been making music as Waxahatchee since 2010, returns home on Saint Cloud. Newly sober, the singer-songwriter reflects on who she is, where she’s been, and who she hopes she has a chance at being on the other side of her alcohol addiction. For better, and for worse, Crutchfield has been shaped by her homes. They’ve helped nurture her artistic dreams and desires, and they’re also where she inherited her wild side—the addiction and struggles she’s now trying to heal from.

As noted on “Ruby Falls,” which I consider the saddest song on the album, Crutchfield worries that she hasn’t lived as fully as she could and won’t be able to if she keeps on drinking how she was accustomed to. She fears letting people in and worries what they’ll find if they discover the real her.

On “Arkadelphia,” Crutchfield writes, “If we make pleasant conversation, I hope you can’t see what’s burning in me.” She hides in the mundane, right beneath the surface, hoping even those she’s closest to won’t force her to face herself. But when you come home and you’re surrounded by the folks who know you best, there’s no hiding. “You strip the illusion.” You find that the myth you’ve built has no real love to give. It can’t hold you in the ways your people will.

We try to convince ourselves that our struggles have nothing to do with anyone else, that they’re not worth burdening others with, but the irony is that we have everything to do with each other. “Our belonging to one another is always there,” Gay told NPR. “Our reliance upon one another is always there.” We are “condemned to interdependence,” as declared by Thomas Sankara.

Our attempts at escaping the concerns of those around us are futile. The myth can’t hold up. “You can’t bluff or outsmart.” We need each other, and we waste more time trying to hide than making ourselves available to care.

When we surrender to the love waiting to catch us, we find, as Crutchfield did, that “you won’t break it after all.” Our struggles aren’t too heavy; we’re not too much. This surrender is a return home—back to where we were once held, only to be held again, only to be reminded that they’ve got us, that our people have always had us.

At some of my lowest points, I returned home. I walked through the door at my most broken and allowed my people to put me back together again. I couldn’t feign strength anymore. I was out of answers; I needed help.

On the album’s final track, “St. Cloud,” Crutchfield sings, “Where do you go when your mind starts to lose its perfected shape?” Back to the place I know, to the people I know, holding onto hope that they might shape me into something new. Someone who can experience all this life has for me. Everything I’m meant to taste and see.

That’s not to say home is perfect. As we discussed, in connection with Crutchfield’s lyrics, there’s a tension in returning home. Many of us left for a reason. We may love where we’ve been, but we also know it’s not good for us to stay. I wrote about Hayley Williams and Joy Oladokun wrestling with this dilemma in their music. And still, there’s a difference between what we have and what we want.

Crutchfield expresses her wants throughout the album. I thirst for a future that my present doesn’t always mirror. It’s these desires that help articulate the things that feel like home for me; they guide me toward the heaven I want to create amidst this hell. All of us showing up to share in our love for music, to laugh with one another and “try to give it all meaning” — even at a time like this — I get a glimpse of who we can be. Album Club shows me what’s possible.

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow us on Instagram!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions that Anna outlined for last night’s Saint Cloud discussion:

1. What did you first hear on this album? The sense of quiet introspection? An immediate “thaw” of lilacs, riffs, and Americana? Something altogether different

2. Does Saint Cloud feel like an indie album wearing a prairie dress and driving a pickup? What lyrics, sounds, or production choices push it one way or another? Any moments on the record that feel evenly both?

3. How did you interpret “Fire” when you first heard it? Does it feel like it’s about putting something out or igniting something?

4. Lyrics often oscillate between poetry and plain-spoken on this album. Do you think that helped make the project more communal? For better or worse, what lyrics stood out to you?

5. What was your favorite song? If you could cut a song, which one would it be?

Leave a comment

Hope you’re hanging in there alright. I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on March 2nd for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music nerds and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. However, during our last session, we had a Grammys-themed discussion, and I keep hearing how fun the conversation was. It breaks my heart I couldn’t be there, but I’m excited to be back.

Our next album is Waxahatchee’s Saint Cloud. My friend suggested this project and will be guiding our discussion. Come through for your new favorite hangout!

RSVP here

Saint Cloud is the fifth solo album recorded by singer-songwriter under the alias, Waxahatchee. Released in March 2020, the record entered the world as we began COVID-19 lockdown. Crutchfield—a product of Birmingham, Alabama’s DIY punk scene where she made music with her sister, Allison, under the name, P.S. Eliot—opts for a country-blues sound on Saint Cloud that most closely mirrors where she grew up. Katie and Allison linked up last Halloween to form a new band, Snocaps, whose self-titled debut album is also worth listening to!

Here are a few links to better understand Waxahatchee & Saint Cloud. Thanks to Anna, , & for sharing their suggestions!

• Profile: The New Yorker

• Profile: Oxford American

• Interview: The Creative Independent

• Podcast: So True with Caleb Hearon

• Podcast: Song Exploder

• Performance: NPR Tiny Desk

• Performance: KEXP

• Performance: Instagram

The Album Club meets at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. We just ask that you RSVP in advance, so we can plan accordingly. Hope to see you there!

Reserve your spot

I put down my paper scraps and stood to my feet. We were having a crafting party at the house. The living room was split into two zones. One had a table and chairs where we sat around making valentines and vision boards and getting up for the occasional cupcake or pretzel stick. Funfetti cupcakes and Dot’s buffalo pretzels, of course. Meanwhile, we had the Grammys on a couple steps away. Every now and then, someone would try to hear who won over the laughter at the craft table, but it was ultimately in vain because any sort of quiet didn’t last long. There were a few moments we all stopped for. Sabrina Carpenter. Olivia Dean. Addison Rae. But I had a personal mission not to miss Justin Bieber’s performance.

Since last year, I’ve had Bieber’s latest albums, SWAG and SWAG II, in heavy rotation. Both albums were surprise drops, released within a couple months of each other. The first of the bunch, SWAG, came out the same day as Clipse’s Let God Sort Em Out, which was my most anticipated album of the year at that point. That is, until I saw Bieber was dropping. Since 2010, I’ve shown up for nearly every Bieber release. His Christmas album, Under the Mistletoe, solidified my fandom. You will catch me singing “Mistletoe” every holiday season for the rest of time. There’s also a wild Busta Rhymes feature on “Drummer Boy” where the rapper wishes their Twitter followers a “Merry Christmas, Kwanzaa, Happy Hanukkah.” The album is a star-studded event with additional appearances from Usher, Mariah Carey, and Boyz II Men. There’s a one-off country collaboration with The Band Perry, which is something Bieber tries to dip his toe in at times. He did an acoustic duet with Rascal Flatts for “That Should Be Me.” Then, he won a Grammy, along with Dan + Shay, for their song “10,000 Hours.”

Despite the country nods, Bieber has never committed himself as fully to a genre than he has R&B. His brand of pop sits most firmly within the Black music tradition, drawing inspiration from his idol, Michael Jackson, and childhood mentor, Usher. Both men, as child stars turned mega stars, loom large over Bieber’s life and career. From an early age, Justin knew that, if he wanted to be like Mike, his life wouldn’t be normal. Bieber’s former manager, Scooter Braun, would tell him as much: “We can do the teenage-pop-star thing with no long-term career plan, and we can ride this thing for a few years, and your career will be done—and I mean over—or we can stick to our current plan, which is following in the creative footsteps of Michael Jackson.” But if you want Jackson’s career, Braun continued, “you have to grasp that you’re never going to be normal again.”

This came after a concert in Orlando where, afterward, a tearful Bieber told Braun he didn’t like being famous. It’s no wonder he hates it. Despite his immense success and the riches he’s attained, Bieber has contended with the consequences of fame—and navigating it at such a young age—throughout his career. It’s not a stretch to say that Bieber has potentially had more eyes on him than anyone else in the history of the world. Two years after the official launch of YouTube, a 12-year-old Bieber and his mother uploaded their first video to the platform. It was Justin singing Ne-Yo’s 2006 hit, “So Sick.” Bieber’s popularity exploded as he continued posting YouTube videos. Eventually, it’s these uploads that caught the attention of Braun, who later teamed up with Usher to sign the young artist. With the duo moving him and his mom from Ontario to Atlanta, the Bieber fever was set in motion.

Within the first 14 months of his career, Bieber sold over 10 million albums worldwide. Earning an estimated $100 million in 2010, he inspired more than 100 products that were holiday must-haves, secured a Paramount-backed movie listing with his Never Say Never concert film, and sold out Madison Square Garden. L.A. Reid, whose Island Def Jam Music Group housed Braun and Usher’s label, told The Hollywood Reporter, “I’ve seen an artist ascend this fast before but never this big.” In other words, Bieber was everywhere, as were the moths his light attracted. From the constant barrage of paparazzi to intrusive adults who had no issues sexualizing a teenager, Bieber became an object of capitalism’s evils. Horrors that likely resemble redacted emails in the Epstein Files or speculations of time spent with Diddy. Braun’s words, a heartbreaking premonition: “You’re never going to be normal again.”

At 18 years old, Bieber told GQ, “I keep my guard up a lot, because you know, you can’t trust anyone in this business.” He added, “That’s what’s sad. You can’t trust anybody. I learned the hard way.” Remnants of old interviews show how these anxieties have followed Bieber into adulthood. A rather creepy Rolling Stone profile from the year before finds Bieber expressing his ire at the paparazzi and money, repercussions of fame that he also faces on SWAG. “I hate paparazzi,” he says. “They’re stalkers with a camera. If someone’s following you, that’s automatically a crime, but if they have a camera, it’s OK? I don’t agree with that at all.” Later, Bieber adds, “I don’t love money, because once you start loving money, you’ve got a big house and nice cars and just an empty heart, and that’s the truth, I’m not just saying that.”

I identify with Bieber’s desire to keep his heart, especially in the face of systems that want to steal it away. Of course, I’m tempted to roll my eyes at the wealthy complaining about his wealth. The famous renouncing his fame, while basking in its spoils. But I also see the many manipulations that can lead one to madness. Reminders that our leaders would rather grind us to dust than relinquish an ounce of their power. One of the questions about Bieber I hear come up most often is the rhetorical “is he okay?” Even if we expect an answer, it doesn’t take long to remember that none of us are.

On “THERAPY SESSION,” one of the one-too-many Druski interludes on SWAG, Bieber shares how this question weighs on him. “That’s been a tough thing for me recently,” he confesses to the comedian. “It’s feeling like, you know, I have had to go through a lot of my struggles as a human—as all of us do—really publicly.” He concludes, “It starts to make me feel like I’m the one with issues and everyone else is perfect.”

has a song called “AM I?” that I’ve been listening to a lot recently where she mirrors this sentiment. In the chorus, Oladokun sings:

“Does anybody feel like everybody’s flying
Even though the sky is falling?
Has anybody noticed someone’s always crying?
We don’t do a thing
Does anybody feel like it’s getting hotter
Down here under the sun?
Am I the only one?
Am I the only one?”

That question “Am I the only one?” has only grown louder in recent years. We have more platforms for connection than ever before where we’re constantly bombarded with information. However, none of this info is universal due to so many niches, feeds, and micro-communities. There’s also a refusal to accept the truth and the histories that made it so. Even when we know what’s real, we deny it to maintain our own convenience; to uphold our illusions. I’ve felt crazy trying to keep my heart in a careless world. I question if we’re all living the same reality when I see industries and fans alike continue to celebrate abusive artists and athletes. This also comes as our government protects pedophiles in plain sight and distracts from these atrocities with nationwide ICE raids and complaints about Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show not being “white enough.”

As Hanif Abdurraqib acknowledges for The New Yorker, this is “a world that can render a person unable to get out of bed.” Earlier in the essay, he states, “The world at large is seemingly fine with what we are witnessing, and I think that suggests the irreversible unwellness of a people, of a society.” It’s this world that applauded Justin Bieber—and that I stood up from the craft table to join—as he walked onto the Grammys stage in nothing but socks and SKYLRK boxer shorts. A world that sat clouded in darkness, except for camera flashes and a series of table lamps, as Bieber constructed the soundscape for his hit song, “YUKON.” Unable to see anything but his own reflection, which appeared in a floor mirror that waited for him on stage, Bieber felt comfortable closing his eyes and focusing only on singing.

The original song pitches up Bieber’s voice to where it’s nearly unrecognizable, but his Grammys performance leaves no mystery about who he is. Bieber is who he’s always been. A kid who loves singing; who, like me and my friends in high school, went through a phase where he couldn’t stop saying “swag.” Many of us remember and question the allowance of his cringeworthy line on “Boyfriend”: “Swag, swag, swag on you, chillin’ by the fire while we eating fondue.” When informed of the end of his 2014 Vulture interview, Bieber jumped out of his seat and shouted, “We’re done? Swag!” This feels like foreshadowing for Justin’s current stage in his career.

As depicted in Bieber’s Grammys performance, he has stripped his professional life down to its bare essentials. He parted ways with Braun, who was a life source for Justin and his mom when first starting out. Additionally, Bieber cut ties with the team that had been with him for most of his career. Instead of cover stories and video interviews to promote his SWAG albums, Bieber has opted for Twitch streams where he plays music with his friends and they talk about their faith. Even the albums mark a clear departure from his over-produced, air-tight songs of old. Bieber’s SWAG series leaves room for imperfection. With help from a new band of collaborators, including Carter Lang, Dylan Wiggins, Eddie Benjamin, and the dynamic duo, Dijon and Mk.gee, there’s more texture than previous Bieber records. He taps into the Michael Jackson influence on songs like “ALL I CAN TAKE” and “DON’T WANNA.” These projects also find Justin raising his first child with wife Hailey Bieber.

The pop sensation keeps his heart by embracing his inner child and resting in the ones who let him be. A fulfillment of Bieber’s own prophecy in a 2015 Men’s Health profile: “I want to always remain… to have that sense of purity inside of me where I don’t… I don’t want to lose that sense of purity.” Later, he notes, “You feel like you wanna grow up and you gotta prove yourself. Hey, man, you don’t need to prove yourself. I didn’t know that, though.”

After Bieber’s Grammys performance, I return to the craft table and keep tinkering away at a valentine for Elizabeth. I flip through magazines, scan sticker sheets, and look for the right marker. I tear and cut and paste. In my body, I’ve just finished watching a performance I’ll remember for years. But in my heart, I’m back in art class crafting with my friends. This night—our coming together to celebrate friends’ shared birthdays—is a reminder that we will show up for each other. It’s an invitation, as Hanif notes, to “imagine a heart that feels a connection to the hearts of others, even others you do not know.” As I attempt to survive a world that wants to destroy me, hopefully making this world more survivable for all of us along the way, I cut the bullshit and return to who I am. I look in the mirror and see someone who has been loved into staying, my people once again lighting my way to the stage ahead.

Thank you!

I appreciate you reading! If you enjoyed, please share it with someone special.

• Was this forwarded to you? Sign up here to receive my next newsletter directly in your inbox.

• Support the newsletter: If you’d like to support my work, consider becoming a Paid subscriber to Feels Like Home or buying me a coffee.

• Stay connected: For more content and updates, follow me on Substack, Instagram and Threads.

It felt like a twist of fate when I learned our February Album Club fell the day after the Grammys. My wife proposed the idea of doing a Grammys-themed discussion. I don’t think I’ve said yes to something that fast since standing at the altar on our wedding day. The only problem with the timing of this Album Club is that I couldn’t be there. Without a second thought, I invited my dear friends and previous discussion leads, & , to guide our Grammys conversation. They were kind enough to share their respective recaps below.

Koku

I haven’t watched the Grammys in years, so when Alex presented Selah and I the opportunity to facilitate this month’s Album Club meeting, I was skeptical about how I would add to this conversation. Award shows have been iffy to me, considering the number of times I’ve seen Black people and other people of color get snubbed across the major award show spectrum. I remember seeing Kendrick Lamar’s good kid m.A.A.d city lose to Macklemore and Ryan Lewis’ The Heist. That was the final straw when I realized that, even in categories predominantly populated by Black people, we still can’t win. But watching the 2026 Grammys and discussing it with the crowd at Album Club, I gained a new appreciation for how much these award shows can highlight artists and bring people together.

Watching the Grammys in a group was the best way for me to get back into it. I was able to attend a Grammys watch party thrown by Alex and Elizabeth. Having them there, as well as our group of friends, helped me see the different artists I had missed out on throughout the last year. I got hip to Lola Young, and after seeing her fantastic performance, I absolutely understand why her song, “Messy,” won Best Pop Solo Performance. Seeing acts like Sombr and Katseye opened me up to genres I tend to overlook in my listening. Olivia Dean’s Best New Artist win warmed my heart. The Art of Loving was a fantastic project to help catapult her into a new world.

In addition to Young, performances from artists like Tyler, the Creator, Bruno Mars, Katseye, Sabrina Carpenter, and the excellent Mrs. Lauryn Hill also showed remarkable depth in artistry and showmanship. Tyler did an alternative verse to “Thought I Was Dead” where he addressed the anti-Black moments he’s had in the past, which resurfaced after Tyler responded to his fans’ anti-Black comments on his social media tribute to D’Angelo. On the same stage, Hill performed a tribute to D’Angelo alongside Raphael Saadiq, Bilal, Leon Thomas, and many more. A beautiful tribute during a very positive show. Many of the award winners seemed well-deserving, and there were no upsets. This culminated in Bad Bunny winning Album of the Year for DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS, which brought tears to his eyes. A wonderful moment to end the night.

During our Album Club conversation, Selah urged people to let their hot takes fly toward the Grammys, as well as nominees and unrecognized artists. We discussed what the Grammys actually mean to artists and whether they exemplify music as much as we think they do. Also, we noted the political statements made throughout the ceremony. For example, Kehlani won Best R&B Song for “Folded” while being staunchly anti-ICE, anti-Israel, pro-Palestine, and an overall advocate for marginalized people. She showed you can still be successful while holding onto your morals. Additionally, Billie Eilish spoke out against ICE, many guests and award presenters wore anti-ICE stickers and pins, and during her acceptance speech, Olivia Dean declared, “Immigrants deserve to be celebrated.”

One of my Album Club highlights was the number of people who came engaged and ready to talk. People’s guards seem to fall as the gatherings grow and we see more familiar faces. Folks are willing to share thoughts they would only share with close friends. Selah posed the question: “What album would you give the Grammy for Worst Album of the Year?” Daniel responded with Chance the Rapper’s Star Line, which many guests strongly disagreed with. The Beliebers in the crowd also caught strays with both Selah and Michaela saying, “The last time Bieber made an R&B album was Journals.” This shocked many in the crowd.

Most importantly, we talked about artists who either deserved a Grammy or that we’d love to see get more attention. Some of these included Theo Crocker, Daniel Caesar, I Am Rose, Andre 3000, Nali, Mavi, Duncan Lawrence, and Navy Blue.

At the end of the discussion, we named a wide range of albums, artists, songs, music videos, and performances we loved. Even if we didn’t get to see our favorite artist win, we had an excellent discussion and shared music we might not have listened to otherwise.

Yes, the Grammys are a prestigious award that many would love to win—myself included. And even though they might not always get it right, what’s most important is that we will. We have our fingers on the pulse of music, and as long as we keep moments like Album Club alive, we will always get it right.

Selah

My relationship to award shows has changed drastically over the years. As a child and adolescent, I spent hours obsessing over the Grammys, placing my bets and taking the time to document every big moment to talk about it the next day. After my final year of high school, I spent less time engaging with award shows after noticing the artistry and creativity declining in nominations. It became a pattern of people with racist pasts, repetitive work and tokenism as winners. The time I spent live-tweeting the Grammys got shorter, the conversations became recaps, and I couldn’t get over the hypocrisy in how the winners were selected.

The difference with this watch was the hurdles to access I had never experienced and the emphasis on whether your favorite artist has a spine to mention their politics. Unlike the days where the value of celebrity meant so much more to me, I am reminded that there are no gods and no masters. We see art and artists as political, but we must also recognize that they have the ability to show us they mean it. Although there were phenomenal performances, the best part of the Grammys didn’t happen in my bedroom watching on my iPad. With the right company, I can say that my love for award shows might have returned because of Album Club.

When Alex asked Koku and I to cohost in his absence, there was no way I could turn this down. Though Koku and I haven’t really watched the Grammys in some time, the warmth of last night reminded us that music will always remain the center of our communities. There was love and laughter along with some takes that caused necks to turn. It was full of moments where Koku’s eyes lit up at the mention of Common’s Be as a classic album or when Jaden & Daniel’s hands shot up to share their hot takes that left many questioning if they collaborated beforehand. From fashion conversations to the sweetness of the D’Angelo tribute, it’s clear to me that a space for celebration is what Columbus craves.

After we finished, there were so many new faces that expressed how they found us. One person, who had spoken to Koku, mentioned he had walked past our previous meeting and knew he had to return. It felt like a testament to the importance of just being in the moment. In this chilly season, our hearts are warm with the help of a sweet treat by Koku, heartfelt questions created by Alex, and a cozy drink from Taylor.

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow us on Instagram!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions I outlined for last night’s Grammys discussion:

1. What are your thoughts on this year’s Grammys? Do you agree with the Album Of The Year winner?

2. What’s your personal Album Of The Year? Even if it didn’t win or get nominated, is there an album from last year that you think should be part of the conversation?

3. At this time, what function do you believe award shows like the Grammys play — particularly for artists? Are they useful? What does a meaningful celebration of art look like?

4. Is there anyone whose name you heard at this year’s Grammys that you’re curious to check out? Or even a project you saw getting love that you haven’t listened to yet?

Leave a comment

ICE violence is not new. Under Democrats and Republicans, ICE has been empowered to harm immigrants and the communities they belong to. These abuses are connected to state-sanctioned violence around the globe, including ongoing genocides in Palestine, Sudan, Congo, and Haiti. As ICE raids pop up in different cities around the US and the public becomes increasingly aware of murders by ICE—most recently with the shooting of Keith Porter in LA and the shootings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti in Minneapolis—it’s more important than ever that we look out for each other and do what we must to keep us safe.

As ICE watches continue in Columbus and we prepare for targeted surges in Springfield, Ohio with the expiration of Haitians’ Temporary Protected Status, I’ve done my best to gather a few resources and ways to help. In the spirit of Thomas Sankara, “This war is one we can and will win—if we understand that we need one another and are complementary, that we share the same fate, and in fact, that we are condemned to interdependence.”

If there’s a resource you’re not seeing below, please share in the comments!

Leave a comment

Columbus

CRIS

Get involved with Community Refugee & Immigration Services (CRIS), an independent non-profit organization that serves the refugee and immigrant populations in Central Ohio. You can donate here. If your loved one is detained by ICE, CRIS may be able to help connect you to trusted resources. Call the FAMILIA Hotline: (614) 874-1189

BQIC

The Black Queer & Intersectional Collective (BQIC) is organizing whistle kit pickups and drop-offs to support community safety and collective care. If you’re an individual or involved with a school, church, or community space in need of whistles, you can complete this form to request a pickup or drop-off.

Call for Anti-ICE Zines

CBUS Creative Club & Zine Club Columbus are requesting ICE response & resource zines. Email your design to sydneyheckeler@gmail.com. It can be a scan or high-quality photo of your finished zine open and laying flat as an 8.5” x 11” sheet. They’ll print it out, fold it, and drop it off to local organizations who will help distribute it during their programming.

Community Response

The Community Response Hub supports efforts to defend communities at risk of deportation and detention in Central Ohio. They do this through advocacy and mobilizing ally organizations and community members. If you’re interested in learning more about the Hub and joining their work, they invite you to complete this form.

Additional Resources

• Whistle Kit Pamphlet

• Mutual Aid Organizations

Springfield

Haitian Support Fund

Central Christian Church is raising funds to help Haitian neighbors and other immigrants in their community with transportation support, groceries, court fees, and shelter costs. You can donate here.

Stand with Springfield

The Abortion Fund of Ohio and Ohio Women’s Alliance compiled a list of resources and ways to support immigrant neighbors in Springfield.

Springfield Speaks

Residents and stakeholders of Springfield are urging state officials to advocate to the U.S. Department of Homeland Security for the extension of Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for Haitian nationals. You can join their petition here.

Please share additional resources in the comments. Thank you for your support!

Leave a comment

Welcome to the new Take It or Leave It. Every month, sometimes a few times a month, Paid subscribers will receive a quick hit of things I’m loving.

Most of my writing is long-form and requires time for research between essays. Hopefully, this helps fill in the gaps for you with new finds (or things you want to revisit).

If not, all good. Take it or leave it ✌️

Share

Currently awaiting 13-16 inches of snow according to my Weather app. I can’t wrap my mind around how much snow that actually is. Even knowing that’s over a foot, what do you mean we might be getting over a foot of snow??

Back in college, I remember we had an ice storm that knocked out the power and even sent a tree pummeling into one of the academic buildings. My housemate and I ended up staying with a professor and his wife. I’m still disappointed they turned us down for dinner when we asked. But that’s my only reference point for how wild the weather could get.

Wherever you are, I hope you’re staying warm. Stay safe, and please continue looking out for each other. In the words of Thomas Sankara, “This war is one we can and will win—if we understand that we need one another and are complementary, that we share the same fate, and in fact, that we are condemned to interdependence.”

In case you missed it, my first essay of 2026 documents my creative journey over the past decade, including moving halfway across the United States, starting a global poetry movement fresh out of college, and finding my way toward essay writing. These are some of the lessons I learned along the way:

If you’re new to my newsletter and would like to get my essays and monthly obsessions sent directly to your email inbox, tap below to sign up for a Free or Paid subscription to Feels Like Home:

Subscribe now

🌮 TheReportOfTheWeek

My new favorite YouTube channel. TheReportOfTheWeek reviews fast food in the way only TheReportOfTheWeek can. Nate & Sara introduced us to TheReportOfTheWeek at our holiday party. The initial reaction is bewilderment, but over time, TheReportOfTheWeek feels like an old friend. I sit at the edge of my seat awaiting his thoughtful assessments.

🏀 “Next Man Up” Nuggets

The Denver Nuggets are playing the most inspiring basketball in the NBA. They have the best road record and are sitting at third in the Western Conference, which isn’t necessarily surprising. The Nuggets were a top title contender coming into the season. What is surprising is they’ve still been finding ways to win while some of their top players, including three-time MVP Nikola Jokic, miss significant time this season.

Read more

In light of the recent “2016” social media trend, I’ve been thinking a lot about the stretch of time between 2015-16 where I gained a greater sense of my artistic purpose. This is the period of time spanning my senior year of college and me moving out to Colorado Springs for my first post-grad job. Kanye West was at the height of his powers, dominating music and fashion with his “won’t take no for an answer” mentality. On “Ultralight Beam,” the intro for West’s 2016 album The Life of Pablo, Chance the Rapper declares, “I met Kanye West, I’m never going to fail.” Ten years later, I don’t know if there’s a line that has aged poorer. But at the time, Chance was also at the height of his career. His 2013 mixtape Acid Rap had quickly risen the ranks of all-time greatest mixtapes, and he built on that momentum with Coloring Book in 2016. Both projects stayed in heavy rotation for me and my friends.

Beyond the music, I was fascinated by how Chance came up. Growing up in Chicago, Chance, who is only a year older than me, honed his writing and performance skills in poetry communities around the city. Along with other prominent artists like Saba, Noname, and Mick Jenkins, he found a launch pad for his creativity at Harold Washington Library’s YOUmedia program. In Chance’s words, as noted during a 2013 interview with Complex, “The majority of the dope, young artists that are in Chicago came out of that bitch.” His praise for YOUmedia continues. “You can learn music theory there, they have production software classes, you can take engineering classes, DJ classes.” But Chance adored Lyrical Loft, which was YOUmedia’s weekly open mic series created by a beloved mentor, “Brother Mike” Hawkins.

One of my favorite videos from these events is a baby-faced Chance performing “Nostalgia” from his 10 Day mixtape back in 2011 while patrons browse the library shelves behind him. Even at a young age, Chance’s performance is captivating. It’s clear why he rapped, “I’m still Mr. YOUmedia,” on Acid Rap’s “Acid Rain” a few years later. This unique resource, along with Brother Mike’s passing, inspired Chance to create his own “Open Mike” events at Harold Washington Library in honor of Hawkins. Reserved exclusively for high schoolers, these gatherings gave students an opportunity to share their art and be encouraged in their creativity just like YOUmedia did for Chance and so many others.

I first took notice of these events when I saw Chance inviting the likes of Kanye and Childish Gambino to perform for students. In a way, Chance was telling these young artists, ‘This could be you,’ while also giving them a stage to perform for their peers and idols. Unfortunately, now, I look back at these gatherings with mixed feelings. Chance organized Open Mike with Malcolm London, who has been accused of SA and other harms on multiple occasions. In 2020, Chance called out London. “I hope all of Malcolm London’s victims get their justice,” he tweeted. “At this point there are too many stories about dude, and the severity of each one is getting worse. I can’t vouch for him at all and hope all these stories get amplified.”

It breaks my heart that an abuser was so deeply involved with something as beautiful as Open Mike, and I hope no one was harmed as a result. I had no idea about these accusations against London when I first learned about Open Mike; however, I still identify with Chance’s intended goal of creating a “sense of community.” Even more, I’m moved by the act of encouraging young people’s creativity by inviting them to share their art with each other. In many ways, I adopted that mission. It’s what drew me to start Car Window Poetry upon moving to Colorado Springs soon after graduating college.

Car Window Poetry is exactly what it sounds like: you write poems and place them on people’s car windshields. Almost like a parking ticket—but the good kind, if there is such a thing. I started the project in August 2016 after attending a youth poetry slam that blew my world apart. I had never been to any kind of poetry event before. I wasn’t even actively writing poetry at the time, but that night, I stumbled into a poetry workshop where I wrote and performed my first poem. Most importantly, I got to watch as middle and high school students stood in front of a room full of strangers and shared their deepest, darkest secrets. They weren’t chastised for using their voice; they were celebrated. And they created a space where I could use mine.

Having spent a couple months in Colorado Springs a few years prior, I knew my way around the city, but I had never heard of anything like this. My gut told me there were other people in my bubble who hadn’t either. In an effort to spotlight the city’s writers, especially its poets like the ones I saw perform, I started Car Window Poetry. I hoped to host an event for these artists, but I never imagined Car Window Poetry would be on NBC Nightly News or give me the opportunity to visit schools and write with students. In a matter of a few months, Car Window Poetry went from being a local art project to people in other parts of the country—and eventually, the world—sharing poems.

Knowing I wouldn’t be in Colorado Springs for long, I hoped to leave the city better than I found it. I wanted to make my mark, but Car Window Poetry’s success felt like an invasion. The project became my whole world and eventually led to some pretty significant burnout. While I didn’t want to know a world without Car Window Poetry, I knew my heart was no longer in it. This became especially clear when I moved to Columbus, Ohio in 2018. After nearly two years of long-distance dating, I was beyond ready to live in the same city as Elizabeth. Instead of making my mark, I wanted to make a life with the woman I love. I wanted to ease into my new home and learn what made Elizabeth’s city so special.

As a result, I embraced being instead of doing. I put down roots in Columbus after getting hired by a local company. I began finding my way in the city. I made genuine friendships—some of which survived the global pandemic that was soon upon us. Relegated to the confines of my own space, I began nurturing my creativity. I assigned myself obnoxiously long lists ranking my favorite mixtapes and albums. Koku and I started a podcast. Nicolas-Tyrell encouraged me to write essays. My homies started writing essays. I joined them. Whereas Car Window Poetry was me trying to be of service to people outside myself, essay writing was a gift to me. Medium and Substack became platforms for me to share my creativity and be encouraged in my art-making.

When Kanye stood on stage at the 2015 MTV Video Music Awards and directed the crowd, “Listen to the kids, bro,” I didn’t realize it was not just an invitation to listen to those younger than me; it was a call to listen to my own inner child. The kid that would sit in his room and draw for hours or rhyme words together, hoping he could transform people’s lives like Kanye and Kid Cudi transformed him. Looking back, I’m grateful that my parents never discouraged my creativity. They helped me follow my curiosities, whether it was entering me into an art show, driving me to football tryouts, or buying me a studio microphone so I could turn my journal entries into songs. It’s this love and support that has kept me creating through all the different stages of my life; it also gave me the faith to believe that creativity could be meaningful for more than just me. Art can be generative for all of us.

During Car Window Poetry workshops, I remember sitting across from kids who didn’t think they could write a poem. Little did they know, I didn’t see myself as a poet either. But I’d ask them, “What do you like to do?” Then, we’d write about our beloveds together. It was like a beautiful sunrise seeing how they’d light up the more they wrote. With a face full of smile, they’d ask if they could write more. If they were writing more, I’m writing more, too. That’s what helped me see my Substack newsletter, Feels Like Home, as a way for us to “notice what we love in common,” in Ross Gay’s words. It’s also what has inspired me to organize communal spaces like Shut Up & Write and The Album Club.

Coming out of college, I wanted to help others. Then, I realized it’s really difficult to pour into others if I’m not also pouring into myself. Now, I take pride in holding space for all of us to reflect goodness back to each other and share in that goodness together. We all have a role to play in uplifting one another and keeping us safe. A new year is upon us. The horrors will continue; they’ll evolve; they’ll take on new shapes—and so will we. Such a time as this requires that I renew my artistic purpose. It asks that I remember where I came from and what got me here. After our last Album Club meeting, an older gentleman, who joined us for the night, approached me and said, “None of this is by accident.” He repeated himself, wanting to make sure I understood. I couldn’t be more certain of anything. I looked around the room and saw friends I’d made over the years since moving to Columbus. Even my being here is a byproduct of falling in love with Elizabeth.

I don’t know if our paths are predetermined, but I’m here for a reason. I believe all of us are. 2026 has already brought with it plenty of hell. I don’t know what else is in store, but I know we’re going to need each other to make it through and hopefully give way to a more survivable future. When we stand on the other side of all this and look at how far we’ve come, I hope we’ll see that wasn’t an accident either. The freedom. The goodness. All of us fully alive in our creativity. We made every bit of it so.

Thank you!

I appreciate you reading! If you enjoyed, please share it with someone special.

• Was this forwarded to you? Sign up here to receive my next newsletter directly in your inbox.

• Support the newsletter: If you’d like to support my work, consider becoming a Paid subscriber to Feels Like Home or buying me a coffee.

• Stay connected: For more content and updates, follow me on Substack, Instagram and Threads.

It’s a new year. The horrors persist, and so do we. I’m dropping in to announce that we’ll join back together on February 2nd for our next meeting of The Album Club — a monthly gathering for music nerds and those looking to connect with each other. I host these sessions on the first Monday of every month in partnership with The Scatter Joy Project, a mental health nonprofit making care and resources more accessible.

Picture a book club, but for music. That’s the Album Club. We usually discuss one album in full. The sound, the lyrics, the stories. During our last session, we discussed Bird’s Eye by Ravyn Lenae, and the conversation stirred up all the feels.

Our next gathering is going to be a little different. We’ll be meeting the day after the 2026 Grammy Awards. We’ll discuss our reactions to the night’s winners and dive into the Album Of The Year nominees. Did the right people win? Who should’ve won or been nominated? What role do award shows play in our current cultural landscape? All this and more at your new favorite hangout!

RSVP here

The 2026 Grammys will air on CBS & Paramount+ at 8pm ET on Sunday, February 1st. Kendrick Lamar leads all nominees with nine nods, including for Album Of The Year. The full list of Album Of The Year nominees are:

• Bad Bunny - DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS

• Justin Bieber - SWAG

• Sabrina Carpenter - Man’s Best Friend

• Clipse - Let God Sort Em Out

• Lady Gaga - MAYHEM

• Kendrick Lamar - GNX

• Leon Thomas - MUTT

• Tyler, The Creator - CHROMAKOPIA

See the full list of Grammys nominations here.

The Album Club will be at The Scatter Joy Storefront, located at 986 North High Street, in Columbus’ Short North Arts District. The multi-purpose space is cozy, welcoming, and made just for you. Whether you’ve recently listened to the featured album or you’re returning to it after a while, come as you are!

The event is free for all attendees thanks to support from The Scatter Joy Project. We just ask that you RSVP in advance, so we can plan accordingly. Hope to see you there!

Reserve your spot

I remember really enjoying Ravyn Lenae’s Bird’s Eye when I first heard it a few years back. But out of all the projects we’ve discussed so far at The Album Club, it’s the one I’ve spent the least amount of time with. That being said, I’m grateful to our wonderful facilitator for suggesting this album and inviting me to revisit it.

Similar to the featured artist from our last meeting, Saba, Lenae comes from the creative lineage of groundbreaking Chicago musicians, such as Chance the Rapper, Mick Jenkins, and Jamila Woods. Lenae’s first touring gig was with Noname. She adds to these artists’ heartfelt body of work with Bird’s Eye, which is Lenae, at 24 years old, guiding us through different seasons of her life.

Mirroring the arc of the album, Selah, our “Pilot” for the evening, started light, took us deep, and then brought us back to a gentle landing. With everyone sitting shoulder to shoulder, making Scatter Joy’s storefront feel cozier than it already is, the discussion felt intimate and invited folks to share openly about their thoughts and experiences.

One of my favorite points of the conversation was chatting about the third track on the album, “One Wish,” which features Childish Gambino. Lenae calls this “one of the most important songs on the album” because it highlights the complex relationship she’s had with her dad. In a letter she wrote about the song, Lenae shared, “Something valuable I’ve learned is being able to really humanize my loved ones and understand the context around people more deeply.”

During the discussion, we talked about estranged relationships in our lives that have shaped how we approach connecting with others. While some people openly shared about strained bonds with family and friends, one of the things that came up is people’s relationship with themselves. We’re handed imperfect instructions and expected to find our way, which often leads to disappointment whether it’s our own doing or comes at the hands of others.

While it’s tempting to want an easy way out—to use our “one wish” to wipe it all away—it’s the challenges and struggles that shape us. That doesn’t mean we glorify these difficulties, but they can be invitations to help us better understand ourselves and what we need from the relationships in our lives. They can guide us toward understanding our humanness and the different facets of who we are.

Gaining a greater sense of self doesn’t mean we have all the answers. I can learn more about who I am and what I want and still be “a pilot roaming.” As the lyrics to “Pilot” read, “I don’t know where to start / Can’t say where I began.” Uncertainty is normal. As Da’Jah noted, society isn’t set up for us to easily change direction. But the beauty of this transitional album and the changing of the seasons, as Quanita shared, is that the bird’s perspective (or bird’s eye) changes when leaving for migration and when it returns.

A new year can be many things, but when distilled, it’s simply a set of days. An opportunity to determine how you want to fill your time and what you want to bid farewell. On “Days,” Lenae finds a “better me.” In the year ahead, I want my days to be what they’re meant to be. I say goodbye to the pressure to always have something cooking. I say goodbye to the scarcity of staying relevant. I choose to ease in; to make time to gather and take pride in going at my own pace.

We may not know where we’re going or where we’re roaming to, but at least our eyes are open. At least we’re figuring it out together. Not lost, just wandering toward a better future. I’m grateful I get to practice this future with Selah and everyone who joined last night’s discussion on Bird’s Eye. Our next meeting is scheduled for Monday, February 2 at 7:30pm. Looking forward to sharing more details in the coming weeks!

For updates on future Album Club meetings, follow my Instagram and The Scatter Joy Project!

Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions Selah outlined for last night’s discussion on Ravyn Lenae’s Bird’s Eye:

1. What season does this album—or specific songs—remind you of?

2. What’s an estranged relationship that impacts how you connect with others?

3. What are some ways that you have felt like “a pilot roaming”?

4. As you enter 2026, what do you want your days to look like? What are you glad to say goodbye to?

Leave a comment