The difference between traveling alone as a woman and traveling as a single mother.



Ain’t no hood like motherhood…

Motherhood is doing the impossible. Literally. It is the art of the impossible, making something — everything, actually — out of almost nothing. Brand new motherhood is really a trip, like tripping. You think all these deep thoughts and have moments of such profundity pass through you that it can bring a tear to your eye. But you cannot manage to write any of them down at the time. Because of the nature of the experience itself.

It is the purest exercise of using intuitive thinking with theoretical knowledge.

When someone asks me, what do I do? I tell them whatever it takes. I take long walks while carrying great loads in order to provide food and shelter to my child. Whatever it takes to protect and nourish my baby and his overall health and well-being. Whether huge or minute. No matter how personal or political, controversial or uncomfortable….

I tell true stories. I go on real adventures. I take courageous risks. I trot the globe. I bend the asanas. I collage the images. I’ve experienced the illusions of fairy tale romance. I am giving into the archetypal myth of the primordial perfectly flawed mother goddess. I live nomadically. I am No Madonna and Child.

Beach, “Bath,” B(reastfe)edtime

Down by the Bay, where the watermelons grow
Back to my home, I dare not go!
For if I do, my mother will say:
Did you ever see a whale with a polka-dot tail?
Down by the Bay!

The smell of flowers and rain and mangoes and the beach hover in the thick humid air on our walk before sunset, just after 4pm.

As I walk into the Ocean this evening while wearing my woke baby my thoughts travel to Yemaja again. This time as I step into…




making stories visual + leading outside yoga + telling art narratives