A record store date isn’t sex, but it is intimate enough to be classified as a body. The foreplay of getting your bearings and noting how the shop is laid out. Fingers slipping through layers of vinyl, feeling the plastic covers, some smoother than others. Peering over to see if your partner is still into it as time becomes an afterthought. Every experience different from the ones before.

I don’t mean to take this analogy further than it requires, but I do mean to say that I felt close to Elizabeth as we went up and down the aisles of each shop. For my 32nd birthday, Elizabeth gave me my dream day: she offered to take me to five different record stores around the city and said I could get a vinyl at each one.

I’ve had more elaborate parties. For example, Elizabeth rented a party bus for my 30th, and us and our friends went on a fast food tour of Columbus. But as my transition into “unc-dom” takes fuller shape, a record store shopping spree is exactly what my heart needed. Time shared immersing ourselves in the music we love most.

Music has always been a foundational part of Elizabeth and I’s relationship. When we first start talking, I remember hours spent texting back and forth about concerts we’d attended and artists we loved listening to. I had Acid Rap playing in my car when I picked her up for our first date because she said she liked Chance the Rapper.

For one of our first Valentine’s together, Elizabeth, the most thoughtful gift giver I know, burnt me a CD with songs attached to memories we shared. Now that we’re married, I laugh when I can hear her eyes roll as another vinyl arrives at the door. And those laughs turn into knowing smiles as she sings a song she only knows because she’s heard me play it obsessively around the house.

Megan Falley, the nationally-ranked slam poet and wife of the gone-heartbreakingly-soon Andrea Gibson, wrote a recent essay in which she described learning about basketball because of Gibson’s love for it. A poem she wrote for Gibson, peppered with NBA lore, says:

“I’m only still going with the basketball references

because of how much it would make you laugh—

to hear what I learned about sports

just so I could have another language

to speak to you in.”

I struggled with foreign language classes in school, but I’ve become well-versed in Elizabeth’s heartsongs. I can say this with confidence because I shouldn’t know what a West Wilson or Amanda Batula is. But during the quarantine period of COVID, I let Elizabeth guide me on a journey of getting into Real Housewives, which opened us up to the wider world of Bravo TV and eventually led us to our favorite show, Summer House.

Similarly, Elizabeth name drops role players on my favorite basketball team, the Denver Nuggets, like they’re friends we meet for trivia every Wednesday. Just as I flip from side A to side B on my most cherished vinyl, I turn every stone looking for clues that will give me a deeper understanding of who she is. I see her doing the same with my beloveds.

This city we share, Elizabeth’s hometown, is one I now consider home because of the love that brought me here and the kindness I’ve had extended to me along the way. On one of our frequent after-work walks, she asked if I’d ever want to live anywhere else. We talked about the places we might consider but settled on the fact that nowhere else is Columbus. Nowhere else is ours the way this city is ours.

One more point for Columbus is something that a local writer replied after I shared about my birthday excursion: “It’s amazing to live in a city that has (at least) 5 record stores.” He added, “I’ll never take that for granted (nor will my bank account).”

When I went back to one of those record stores on my actual birthday, the owner asked if I had just been in for some kind of celebration. He remembered. I don’t take that for granted either. Columbus isn’t small by any means, but it allows for a closeness where interactions like this are possible. Where conversations can carry over into shared languages that feel as intimate as a record store date. It’s not sex, but I sigh as I head home with a sleeve full of songs to add to our vocabulary.

About the Writer:

(He/Him) of Feels Like Home

Location: Columbus, Ohio

Socials: lewisalex10.com

Gratitude to for being the 2nd guest writer of the 2026 cohort. Alex is actually the first male writer of the Postcards & Playlists series and this is the 3rd year. So shoutout to him for being the first. Alex’s Substack caught my attention years ago because he is a music lover like myself. His postcard had me smiling as read of him and his wife learning and embracing another’s literal love languages and I’m such a fan of Andrea and Megan (I agree, gone too soon). Alex’s hosting an upcoming event, The Album Club where they will discuss Solange’s, “When I Get Home” and I wish I lived in Columbus so that I could attend. I’m a huge Solange fan and my Substack is inspired partially by her. I haven’t told anyone yet, (until now), but I’ll be seeing her in NY in June for a conversation about the 10 year anniversary of “A Seat at the Table” hosted by Vulture Mag (I definitely will write about it). At the end of the year him and the fellow guest writers will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

After starting my tech career in 2017, I spent more time in San Francisco than I ever had before. It’s a city many New Yorkers don’t bother hiding their disdain for. It gets reduced to swagless clones in branded tech merch uniforms, Allbirds included.

After leaving a big tech company in 2021, I took a job at a startup that required more frequent trips to SF. At one point, I was there almost once a month, and it started to grow on me. I had corporate card dinners with my team at Liholiho Yacht Club, afternoons in Dolores Park with pastries from Tartine, and a standing date for a scoop of Cinnamon Snickerdoodle ice cream from Salt & Straw. I grew to love the food, the quirks, and the temperate weather.

Now that I’ve left the corporate tech world, I find myself missing the rhythm of it. Landing at SFO and taking the familiar Uber ride to my hotel on Market Street. Coordinating dinner in Pacific Heights with one of my best friends, who moved there for a brief stint after living in New York, and spending time with her extended family, who call the city home. Celebrating her birthday in apartments full of new people who felt familiar. Meeting up with friends who happened to be in town for business trips and introducing coworkers to people from my personal life. Getting drinks in random dive bars with a friend from college who moved there for a design job at Levi’s, and still catching glimpses of former coworkers on his Instagram stories.

I wasn’t supposed to like it as much as I did, but I did. It’s never hot in San Francisco. I never questioned my outfits there or thought too hard about how I looked because the city doesn’t really care. It felt like a reprieve from New York, where my casual neighborhood walk can turn into an outfit spiral and a question of who I might run into. I was three hours behind most of the people I loved, which meant no one expected me to be available. I got to exist in my own world of tech happy hours and friend catch-ups.

I’ve gained a lot by leaving my corporate job, but I’ve also lost access to parts of my life that once felt constant. I miss San Francisco, and part of that is missing the version of my life I got to hold while I was there.

About the Writer:

(She/Her), Founder of Hi! I’m Here

Location: Brooklyn, NY

Socials: ShelbiJones.com / https://linktr.ee/shelbihq

Gratitude to for being the 1st guest writer of the 2026 cohort. I landed on Shelbi’s page all because I was googling Tyler the Creator quotes and her Substack article caught my eye in the results. I loved the article and her page. I left a comment and the rest is being lived through this collaboration. Thank you Shelbi for accepting the invitation to share with us. I really appreciated her entry as I resonate with liking something you didn’t expect to and the missed routines and connections of past jobs, especially in my current season of (f)unemployment and working towards self - employment. At the end of the year her and the fellow guest writers will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

“Yall should come in and check out the hotel, it’s really something” said the staff member of said hotel, a black man. Outside of the soul food restaurant and MLK day my friend and I probably crossed paths with maybe 10 black people the whole time there. When he saw two black girls walking past he wanted us to see the beauty. We hesitated at first saying maybe we will stop in on our way back from visiting the Charleston City Market (slaves were sold there), knowing damn well we wouldn’t. I even had a thought overcome me that I was underdressed since we came straight from the airport and our room at our hotel was not ready. With our luggage stowed away at our hotel we went out to have lunch and explore. After just a brief moment of pause we decided to take him up on his welcoming offer. We entered and were greeted by this enormous chandelier, the most perfect blue stairs, and yellow flowers on a table in the center. We belong in every room. I’ll say that again so it really sticks, we belong in every room. I’m saying this for you and especially to myself. I shared this quote with my cohort of health and wellness coaching classmates and one of them took that to her coworkers and they all put a post it of the quote up in their work spaces or homes.

Your legacy is happening now. It’s the impact you make on someone and the wisdom of yours that they share with their community. I promised myself 2 things a while back. One being that I will travel to a new city at least once a year. Second, I will always celebrate my birthday. Some of you reading this are probably wondering how enjoyable Charleston could of been with the information I’ve shared thus far but it was actually one of the best experiences I’ve had on a birthday when it comes to all the special treatment we received. It showed me that I am worthy of care, consideration, and gifts without trying, for just being me. At our first lunch there our billed was paid for, we went to this souvenir store and they gave us free souvenirs, we returned to the hotel room and there were chocolate covered strawberries and powdered sugar pecans, we met the great Corey Alston and he gifted us with a piece of sweet grass and told us where we should go that night, at said place we were treated to drinks twice and I had the Stevie Wonder version of Happy Birthday (aka the black version) played to me on sax, friends treated us to mimosas, we were all treated to birthday shots to celebrate, I got a free dessert at one of the top dessert cafes, and we experienced a free genealogy class at the International African American museum. I searched for my grandmother who raised me, Gran Gran. She was my best friend and she passed away a day before Thanksgiving last year, that holiday will never be the same, nothing will ever be the same. Her legacy is me and the things she taught me like to go window shopping when I’m down, basically get moving, she believed in me so much and wanted to see me on TV one day. She said just like the seasons change we are supposed to too. One of the last memories she shared with me was her meeting my mother for the first time while she was pregnant with me. She also told me my life is as happy as it will be as it is right now and to not have kids and only get married if the person really really loves me (more on this soon). I am typing this minutes before midnight and April 1st. The same month I was baptized at the age of 14/15, the same month I lost a job one year, and started a new job another year, and was a panelist for a Master’s program in 2024 (I don’t even have a Masters yet), the same month in 2023 I took my grandmother out for brunch, then she went to Target with me, and then she had a cookie that she shouldn’t have had but it was worth it because that was the last time she had enough energy for me to take her out, it’s like she knew. What is held? Every memory, every piece of wisdom, every experience, everything inside my grandmothers, their mothers, and the mothers before them lives inside me too.

Life lately while currently in the season of: unemployed & well rested

About the Writer :

Janel (she/her), Founder of With Joy Designs and Community & Experience Designer [me ;p]

Baltimore, MD

P.S. - If you want my Charleston itinerary, paid subscribers will have access to it or you can receive it for a one time fee. DM if interested.

I never thought I’d move back….

But death, loss, and unexpected beginnings reshaped me. Home isn’t just where I grew up; it’s where I grieve, where I heal, and where I stretch into my gifts. This is my story of a magical homecoming and the daily work of returning to myself.

They say, “Home is where the heart is.” For me, home has never been just one place. It’s the Bay. It’s New Orleans. It’s New York. It’s Atlanta. It’s wherever I return to myself. Returning home, returning to me has been the thread through every move, every loss, every new beginning. To be fair, I’m a Sagittarius through and through. I’ll catch a flight, catch a feeling, and both feel like home.

I was raised in the Bay Area. The Yay Area, as we fondly know it. Oakland, California. The Town, to be exact. And before I ever left, Mama B would always tell me, “Home will always be here. Live your life, go where you want to go. As long as you’ve got breath in your body and a way to travel, you can always come back home.” She said it when I dreamed about leaving for college, and she reminded me every time I talked about moving somewhere new, or questioned moving “home”. Her words live in me every time I gallop toward another place.

At 17, I moved to New Orleans, where my grandparents were from. I attended the Illustrious Dillard University for undergrad and eventually went to grad school at the University of New Orleans. If you know anything about New Orleans, it is…magical, mystical, and historical. Also, everything and I do mean EVERYTHING you love about the city is because of Black folk, but I digress. New Orleans raised me. The city held me, tested me, shaped me. Its rhythm became my rhythm, grounding me in ways only that soil, that spirit, could.

At 24, New York called, and DUH, what else was I supposed to do? I answered. New York was….chaotic and brilliant. Tried, tested, and terrified me. It made me feel alive. New York stretched me, challenged me, demanded everything, and gave me more in return. It opened me up wider, showed me my edges, sharpened me, and forced me to expand. And it was there, in the beauty and the grind, that I lost my dad, Weedie, in 2016, a month before my 30th birthday. His passing left me saddened, curious, and heartbroken. Our time was cut short, stolen before it could be fully lived. But his lessons stayed steady: lean into who you are fearlessly, authentically, unapologetically.

By 2019, I was in my 30s, and you guessed it, time for another move! I circled back to New Orleans for a reset and to be closer to my mom, who by then had relocated there, too. She had left Oakland herself and made New Orleans her home, our home, returning to the city of her parents. In her move and mine, we mirrored one another, both finding our way back to ancestral ground, both answering a call that felt bigger than us.

Now remember, New Orleans was a reset—a necessary pause, a return to my roots, a mirror back to myself. But even then, there was somewhere else calling me. Always humming in the background, waiting for me to arrive. By 2021, I had one foot in Atlanta, and by 2022, both feet firmly planted. The A was always the plan. It made sense. I made sense there. Black. Queer. Magic. Y’all, I could write a love letter to Atlanta, if you know you know. It’s the vibe. The love. The community. The culture. And I mean the real Atlanta, shout out to the natives, there’s no place like it.

So I’m flourishing, adjusting, loving Atlanta—PLANTING. Then here comes life with some raggedy shit. In summer 2023, the sky cracked open, and the floor swallowed me whole because my damn mother died. Mama B transitioned peacefully in her bed, leaving me to deal with this world. What else to do but push through life, still paralyzed with grief? Pushing along, moving…then BOOM, in February 2024, I lost my job. This was the week I was going to clean my Mom’s home out and handle other affairs. Oh, and my relationship ended a few weeks later. So, in March 2024, I found myself starting over in the Bay, something I never had plans on doing.

But it wasn’t really starting over. It was starting a new chapter.

Weedie’s Aries fire pushed me forward, reminding me I was raised radically—to resist, and to rise. Mama B’s Libra balance and boldness continue guiding me toward rebellion and self-discovery. Their lessons live in me, the two forces shaping the way I move, the way I choose, the way I come home to myself.

Because death changes you. It bends your bones, shifts your voice, rearranges your insides. Don’t get it twisted, I’ve known death my whole life. I’ve known how it calls you home in different ways. But Mama B’s death was a louder call. Not just to the Bay, but to me. To live for me. Truly.

Since returning home to the Bay last year, I’ve been able to sit, to grieve, to reflect, to be held, and to hold myself accountable. I’ve found my voice differently: through voice acting, through facilitation, through learning how to live for me while fighting for my life.

And in that, another mirror. My mom’s move to New Orleans was a homecoming in life, much like mine back to the Bay. Mama B’s passing was a homecoming in death, a call to step back into myself more deliberately, to choose me in ways I never had before. Choices and transitions reframed my own, teaching me that home is as much internal as it is geographical.

In August 2025, I returned to Atlanta. It wasn’t casual. I went to see if I truly wanted to root myself there again. To go through my storage unit, to touch the memories I had packed away. To be with community, to dance and rejoice during Black Pride, to feel the pulse of belonging. And most importantly, to attend the Sex Down South conference not only as a first-time attendee, but as a healer, stepping more fully into my gifts.

In Atlanta, at Sex Down South, I offered meditation and energy clearing in the healing space. A beautifully crafted, dimly lit tent tucked inside the buzz of the conference, filled with soft music and the invitation to breathe. Folks arrived ready to release what no longer served them—insecurities, fear, control—and to receive clarity, courage, and the fullness of their gifts. They walked out softer, stronger, freer. We all did. It was proof that home is also wherever I open my hands and say, “You are safe here.”

And it wasn’t just me. I met other healers, facilitators, light workers, and sexually liberated Black-ass folk who reminded me that community, too, is a kind of homecoming. In those rooms, on those dance floors, in those sacred circles, I felt Mama B and Weedie there, cheering me on. If you knew them, you know. I am, in fact, their freaky ass, weird, radical, wild child, and damn proud of it.

What I know is this: home isn’t a single place. It’s all the places where my spirit feels both stretched and rooted. It’s in the people who raised me, the cities that grew me, and the unexpected landings that saved me. It’s community. Family and friends, near and far, who have carried me, held me. The ones who have reminded me that I don’t have to do this alone. Their love is another kind of shelter, another reminder that home is everywhere I am received. It’s in the echo of Mama B’s lessons, in Weedie’s insistence that I be unapologetically myself, and in my choice every single fucking day—to live for me.

For now, the Bay is home. And Atlanta is, too.
Returning home, returning to me—again and again, wherever I land.

This is the magic of many homes.

This is for my Mama: Andrea Kay Baptiste — “Mama B.”

For the Baptiste and Wilson families, whose blood, love, and lessons run through me.

For the family, especially the siblings not by blood but by choice.

For the one who always catches, sees, and holds me — “No matter where.”

For the one who will always eat watermelon with me.

For the ones who truly see me, know me, and continue to grow with me.

For all the places and people that raised me.

For all the hearts that have found their homes in me.

For all the homes I’ve found my heart in.

For my Daddy: Julian Craig Wilson — “Weedie.”

About the Writer:

(She/Her/Magic) Self-Discovery & Leadership Coach | Organizational Development Consultant

Location: The Bay Area, California

Socials: IG: coachambermagic; TikTok: coach_magic; Email: coachambermagic@gmail.com

Gratitude to for being the 4th guest writer of this cohort year. We connected through the group chat here on Substack. I shared my postcard and encouraged anyone interested in being a guest writer to reach out. She was the only person that responded. I truly believe in divine alignment and this is one of those moments. Her postcard resonates to me so much because I am on the brink of considering making a big move. To see how many places she has lived and have called home is motivating me to keep pursuing the tug on me to move. Thank you Amber for accepting the invitation to share with us. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

“The more the days go by, the more myself and I

Shake hands and realize the benefits of independence

And it's really something

To make homes of worn-out luggage

What a life, man, what a life this is, yeah

Just me, myself and nothing

But somehow I've learned to love it

Home is wherever I live”

Home is wherever I live. It’s also part of the title of one of my favorite songs by Alessia Cara, who was born and raised in the same hometown as me. I’ve always felt both proud and inspired to know we share similar roots. If it were possible for her to build something from where we came from, then maybe I can stretch my branches out towards my own version of fulfillment too.

Most people say home is a place they return to, often the same location where they first found it. A place filled with familiar people, objects, and smells. It’s sacred. What happens inside a home is private, unseen by the world. That’s why home becomes the one place we can take off our masks and simply be ourselves.

If you had asked me what home was when I was five, I’d tell you it was Balmoral Drive in Brampton, a suburb about 45 minutes northwest of Toronto—on a day with absolutely no traffic, which now feels impossible. It was a red brick bungalow, filled with Caribbean mahogany furniture and the warm smell of my mother’s cooking. I always knew I could find my mom, dad, and younger brother there. Sometimes, visitors would drop by—usually a cousin or family friend. If I didn’t remember them, I’d dread the awkward conversation. “Oh wow, you’ve gotten so big. You don’t remember me?” No, I didn’t. And honestly, I didn’t care to. But I’d force a smile until it was awkward enough for both of us and then excuse myself upstairs.

That house was where I practiced piano before my next lesson, kicked the soccer ball with my brother in the backyard, or sat under the maple tree watching ladybugs crawl in my palm. It’s where I woke up every birthday with a camera in my face, my family singing “Happy Birthday” before I even got dressed for school. It’s where I learned to play video games when my dad finally gifted me the Xbox I’d been asking for. Where I got my first iPod Shuffle, and eventually, my first cellphone. Like many people, most of my firsts happened inside that house or while living inside of that house.

But it wasn’t always filled with good memories. Sometimes I still wonder if it was mostly good or mostly bad. My parents fought a lot—mostly about money. My bedroom became my safe haven. It was the one place I could drown out the noise, close the door, and feel some sort of peace. That’s where I believe my love for reading, singing, dancing and writing developed. What else can you do within the confines of a few feet boxed in? Looking back, I think my dad was struggling with anxiety, which led to financial mismanagement that took a toll on my mom and eventually on us kids. I didn’t fully understand it at the time because, somehow, the things I wanted usually still showed up under the Christmas tree. Even if I was told we didn’t have money, the gifts told me otherwise. There was always food, a roof over our heads, and even the occasional trip to the Caribbean every few years.

I often felt anxious, but strangely, I found familiarity in that instability. There was a quiet hum inside me that grew louder as I got older—a yearning to break free, to carve out space for myself. To find independence and discover who I was outside of others’ expectations. That yearning led me to my second home: university.

It was the first time in my life that I chose to live away from home. I was 18. My parents would’ve preferred I stay, but I needed to know who I was outside of them. Home was about to look different. My first year was spent in a dorm shared with three other girls, on a floor full of students all trying to create their own version of home. That’s when I realized something important: you can choose your home. You don’t have to accept only the one you were born into.

That kind of home gave me an entirely different feeling—one of empowerment, agency, and fun. No more asking for permission to see friends. That kind of freedom was dangerous, but it was also thrilling. I partied hard. I evolved. And with every passing year, I outgrew the home I’d created the year before. In the second year, I moved into a house with two of my closest friends. By third and fourth year, we moved into different homes in different neighborhoods. With each move, I adjusted. I brought the things that brought me comfort and found refuge in the rituals of everyday life—my favorite snacks in the kitchen, basement catch-ups with friends, or the feeling of coming home to stories filled with laughter or tears and music after a long day.

Eventually, I realized I could make a home out of anywhere—as long as I had the right energy, people, and little joys around me. New bus routes, new grocery stores, but still all led me to what I was looking for. I loved it. I didn’t have to go back home anymore. Sure, I missed my family from time to time, but I was finally choosing my own peace. I was finally in charge of my own joy. And if I wasn’t happy? I could actually do something about it.

That’s when things began to click: home is whatever I make of it.

This truth deepened when I decided to do a study abroad in Australia during my fourth year. University hadn’t felt like that big a leap because I was still close to home. If I needed my parents or friends, they were only an hour or two away. But Australia? That was different. I didn’t know a single soul there. What if I felt alone? What if I couldn’t make it work?

But I went. In August 2017, I landed in Canberra—and I was forever changed.

I met friends from all over the world. Places I never even thought I’d visit, let alone connect with someone from. And once again, I proved myself wrong. I could make friends outside of my postal code. I could build a life from scratch. And suddenly, the word “home” began to stretch and reshape itself again.

Turns out, relationships aren’t bound to one destination. Friend circles might shift, but the connection still matters. To this day, I have friends in Germany, Australia, the U.S., and Bali, and elsewhere around the globe. And even after all this time, we still manage to keep in touch. I realized then that home wasn’t limited to just one city. I took pieces of home with me everywhere I went.

Since then, I’ve traveled to over 20 countries—most of them solo. And each one, in its own way, has felt like home. Whether I stayed for six weeks or six months, home became a feeling. It became that moment when I decided, “Yes. I can find peace here.” In the people. The food. The culture. The rhythm of the land.

Sometimes I want stability and ask myself when the heck am I going to settle down? I’d love to create a family one day, and that would inevitably require me to set roots somewhere. Other times, I crave the novelty of it all and think maybe I don’t have to sacrifice one for the other and still have both adventure and familiarity in multiple places at once. It wouldn’t seem that far-fetched anyway, because I’ve built my life to allow for both. I run a holistic wealth coaching business and work as a freelance marketer—ways to fund my travels and work from anywhere in the world. While creating immense impact in tandem.

Even if you aren’t someone who loves the idea of picking up and moving somewhere every few weeks or months—we’re all nomads, if you think about it. Since the beginning of time, humans have always traveled. We’ve built homes, taken them down, carried them with us, and built again. We shared spaces with those we knew and those who were strangers. Perhaps in need of help or looking for love. We built communities as a form of strength and established networks of trade and care.

To be from one place doesn’t mean it’s the only place you’ll belong. As I get older, I’ve come to understand that home is what you make it. It can be a place—or a feeling. A sense of belonging. A place to exhale and remember who you are.

And now, as I write this from the comfort of my parents’ home for the summer, I look forward to the many homes I have yet to build or step into. The building my father is constructing in Tobago. The future home I’ll share with a partner and maybe children. The many Airbnbs I haven’t booked. The friend’s couch I haven’t slept on yet in some city I haven’t even dreamed of. The communities and masterminds I’ll join, but haven’t yet found. Even the digital homes I’ve built—my website, my offerings, my stories. Places people can visit and feel something true.

So yes, home is everywhere, if you look close enough. But if you look past what’s close…you just might find yourself.

About the Writer:

(she/her), Holistic Wealth Coach

Toronto, Canada

Sites: Website, YouTube

Gratitude to for being the 3rd guest writer of this cohort year. Morgan’s Substack has been recommended by the algorithm and reposted by who I follow for some time now. I love her Substack title, The WELL(th) Letters and I really resonate with her mission & vision of her coaching business. As someone that has also moved a lot her postcard reminded me of some of my experiences and reflections. Thank you Morgan for accepting the invitation to share with us. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

A year ago, if you told me we’d be leaving Atlanta to move to a small town in coastal Georgia, I would have laughed and shaken my head in disbelief. Atlanta had been my home for 8 years and my husband’s for 10. He originally moved there for work, and I followed him two years later, seeking to close the distance in our long-distance relationship.

Two years later, we married and began our lives together in the city’s suburbs. Was it perfect? No. After living four years in DC during college, where everything was close and accessible – I explored and commuted on foot and via the metro – I always called Atlanta a faux city, thanks to the ridiculous distance you had to drive and the traffic you had to fight just to reach its different boroughs and neighborhoods. But even with its quirks, bougieness, and imperfections, it was my dream.

As a middle schooler, I remember listening to Kelly Clarkson’s song “Breakaway” as she crooned about growing up in a small town, looking out her window, dreaming of what could be, praying that she could break away. I would join her voice, turning the song into a prayer, hoping that I, too, could break away to a bigger city, where my dreams might become reality.

Growing up visiting family and reading books set in Atlanta, moving there became a dream, and I was set on making it happen. So when it came time for high school graduation, I did the only thing I could think of as a high school student – apply for colleges there. While my eyes were set on Spelman, God’s eyes were set on Howard University, because I was blessed with a full tuition scholarship to attend. I quickly fell in love with DC, happy to give up my dream for the city that won me over. But it’s funny how God still has a way of working, giving us the very things we forgot we prayed for.

When I eventually moved to join my husband later, I didn’t realize that I was living a dream until we were forced to make a hard decision to move. While we had briefly discussed potentially moving one day, we had no idea or intention that the time would be approaching this soon. After all, after eight years, Atlanta had become home.

So when my husband got a job that brought us to coastal Georgia, I didn’t know how to feel. We were moving to the Golden Isles, but it didn’t feel very golden to me, as a person who repels change. When I first got off the exit and saw the parsley-looking evergreen trees free from fall foliage in the middle of the season, I just remembered thinking, “What did we do?” Everything in the environment – the temperature, the plants, the nature – was completely different, and I grieved the loss of the familiar.

Slowly, I came around as I immersed myself in the community, finding local gems and mainstays that felt more like home, the community I had always craved, but never quite found while I was living in Atlanta. One of those mainstays was the library. It was one of the first places I wanted to check out once we got settled, knowing that it would be frequented often by me and the kids. I remember navigating my way there the first time, noting the surrounding streets, the fork in the street, and the U-turn it took to get me there. Back then, I didn’t know the library was in the heart of downtown.

Three months later, I found myself there again, checking out a book while I waited for my Target pick-up order to be ready. I browsed the rows of bookshelves, picking out a read, before exiting the library on the opposite end to grab a coffee and some lunch. As I sat, sipped, and nibbled on my sandwich while I read on my Kindle, I couldn’t help but feel immense gratitude and contentment for where the Lord brought us.

Though this move wasn’t something we planned or initially welcomed, this place has come to feel like home. Not just because of the library, but because of the blossoming friendships and community I’ve prayed for for years, the unexpected joy I’ve found in this quiet coastal town, and the slowness my soul unknowingly craved—now granted through small-town living, and the wholeness that is found when you let go wholeheartedly, putting ten toes down – planting yourself – deciding to dig-in and make the most of wherever you are.

About the Writer:

(she/her), Organizational Psychologist & Certified Coach

Brunswick, GA

Website

Instagram

Gratitude to for being the first guest writer to the 2nd cohort of the postcard series. This album is called “The Present’s Offering”. I met Janelle almost 10 years ago back in DC about a year after graduating. We can’t recall exactly where we met at but we hung out a few times after before the fullness of life disconnected us. Fast forward to 2023, it was Substack that reconnected us. Yes, we have the same name but we also have similar interests and values like coaching, centering joy, and God. As I read through her entry it reminded me so much of where I am in life when it comes to feeling at home & heavy on the gratitude for community that I always prayed for. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

Here’s a throwback of Janelle and I :)

With joy,

Janel

I have lived in Baltimore for exactly 1 year and a half and it’s on the cusp of when I typically get the itch to move. I have moved every 1 - 2 years (I will write more about this in the future), but this time feels different. I have never had such a sense of community like I do here. Even growing up I didn’t feel it because I went to elementary and middle school in a city different than where my home was. In high school I was the new girl although I had been living in the same house since 4 years old. What a oxymoron. A stranger in your own hometown. Reflecting back it made my network diverse but I don’t feel like I ever felt tied to the community for various reasons. My mom is not from there so I don’t have the historical ties, I went to school for the first 8 years in a city I didn’t live in and then did for high school, my immediate block did not have any kids on it, and lastly I grew up in the hood so I couldn’t just frolic anywhere. I spent most of my days with my bestie who lived in the city I just came from and my actual home city was just for school. Fast forward through college and living in the DMV, primarily Northern, VA, everything is really far and there is a lot of traffic. So making new friends was few and far between. Firs off people say they want to hang but flake, especially if you don’t meet their criteria of success or you aren’t apart of the the made up groups (HBCU grad, Federal Govt employee, apart of an organization, the list goes on…), then you have to factor in where you live, how much traffic, and if it’s really worth it. Needless to say, community was few in and far between. It was more like meeting in DC for a club, visits from friends that I’ve known for years, or nothing. Moving from VA was the best decision I’ve made for my life in my 30’s.

A box or 2 still packed and no art on the walls, I recorded a voice note before Christmas Eve (December 23rd), which I am taking a moment to listen to now. I ushered in my 32nd birthday (January 15th) here in Baltimore after moving here just less than 2 months before, which was a lot of change at one time, but it was a change that needed to happen. I not only have community and support - friends stop by, we work out together in my apartment gym or just to catch up, when I make new friends in the area there is typically a follow up and since we all live nearby the hangs actually happen, and I have been invited to dinners and more. It feels really good to experience what I’ve longed for - I love my apartment, I can afford it, the food scene is amazing - I haven’t had a bad thing yet and the food & drinks are affordable, lots of free festivals and events, I appreciate that parking and Ubers/Lyfts are affordable, black owned businesses and art, and Baltimore’s culture and the city overall is just so gorgeous. My postcard photo is actually a still from a video I recorded as I was screaming seeing this beautiful horse (like why was I acting like I’ve never seen a horse?) but I guess it’s because of the juxtaposition of city / urban and a horse, I love how the light is captured in this as well. I learned that this horse & buggy had been seen by my friends since their childhoods and a google search led me to this video explaining that they are called Arabbers and that this has been a tradition for 200 years. The day I took this photo was my first day on a new job after a layoff and I had to pick up my ID. Afterwards I was going to try to get a fish sandwich that I saw on TikTok but they weren’t there that day so it gave me the opportunity to visit Hollins market for the first time and end up having the best Salmon BLT ever and for only $4. Then as I drove away I saw this beauty. This is what I love about living here - the literal charm (it’s called Charm City for a reason), the culture, the history, and the greatest offering of all - community.

About the Writer :

Janel (she/her), Founder of With Joy Designs and Community & Experience Designer [me ;p]

Baltimore, MD

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When you know who you are, you dismiss your fears and ego and welcome unexpected teachers into every area of your life.

My partner likes to fill silences like a void or blank canvas depending on his mood. I’m more than comfortable without speaking. I love simply existing, feeling, and having private experiences in shared spaces knowing that we’re more connected than ever on another plane.

Something I love about us is that we’re forever students, always aware that our differences help us grow into more compassionate, self-aware, and supportive people. That’s why I use “partner” instead of “boyfriend” when describing our relationship. 

Not yet ready for marriage, I understand that we’ve formed a partnership in this life that enables his strengths to nourish my weaknesses and vice versa without a need for competition or validation.

Growth is Uncomfortable: Annoyance is often a sign that there’s something new to discover.

He likes to pause in awe and delight like a child witnessing something for the first time, even while taking in sites he’s known intimately throughout his 38 years. It used to drive me crazy, especially when we’d hike together more specifically when we’d hike in my woods and on my trails that I’ve connected with so much I’ve spiritually claimed ownership of Her (Mother Earth’s) vastness as my private sanctuary.

Whenever I let him or anyone else join me, I feel like I’m sharing part of my soul, my visions, my ideas, and my poetry—although I’m my least talkative when I’m out in my sanctuary.

I know now that my guy’s chatter bugged me so much because his soul was teaching mine some valuable lessons. It just happens that my hardheadedness made it difficult for them to sink in. It happens.

I’ve learned that events we perceive as problems will repeat themselves in our lives until we stop to learn the lesson they’ve come to teach. [Spoiler Alert: The “problem” is rarely that the other person needs to change.]

So, what did my man’s awe-inspired inner child come to show me?

Lesson Number One: This aligns with my life’s journey as a whole. As someone with a history of abuse, I’ve been learning to trust that my inner child is always safe, even when I am vulnerable and soft.

Our relationship has mirrored my private healing journey, giving me a classroom to become more vulnerable in.

I had to explain why I so deeply cherished my hikes in that particular location, opening myself to the possibility that my mysticism would be rejected or even made fun of by his rational, linear-thinking mind as it had by others in the past. In all actuality, these differences continue to explain why we found each other.

For us to achieve the balance we have in our relationship today, he needed to understand that they are walking meditations through which I learn more about who I am and shed layers that no longer serve me—similar to the snakes I’ve seen whose energy hypnotizes me, empowering my freedom and evolution. 

Allowing the annoyance from his chatter to open my heart, I’ve embodied nature’s unapologeticness for myself in my vulnerable sharing. 

Her unapologeticness is one of the traits that inspires me the most when I step into the woods. She creates, dies, and adjusts according to Her own cycles and plans. She doesn’t a

sk our permission. Others have mislabeled me as rude, selfish, and brash throughout my life for naturally holding this energy. In recent years, I’ve accepted it as my superpower because I understand its importance, so I’ve built a business around it. I am self-empowered. 

Lesson Number Two: By taking full ownership of my feelings and seeing the bigger picture my annoyance was showing me, I now see that my partner and I honor Mother Earth’s sacredness and beauty in similar ways. More often than not, I notice beautiful sights before he does, we just express ourselves differently in those moments. Through one another, we’ve become bilingual. 

Your inner child can still make new friends, even in your thirties!

When we enter my woods now, he gives me the silent space I require to receive what She has for me. And I’ve opened up, allowing space for his inner child’s expression and play.

Since I’ve managed to know this ever-changing landscape like the back of my hand, my inner child frequently entices his with phrases like “Follow me, I’m gonna show you something cool!” as I grab his arm, recklessly leading him through steep hills and rocky trails without a single fear of falling and scraping a knee.

Our inner children, who grew up worlds apart have become the best of friends.

Stop and smell the…mushrooms?

Lesson Number Three: The next big lesson I learned is the reason for this photo. One of my guy’s favorite reasons to stop mid-hike is to photograph mushrooms. 

Again, I didn’t get it at first. But one day, this past August, during a solo hike, I noticed the most beautiful array of mushrooms I’d ever seen. I paused knowing that I was witnessing the most raw artform.

Mother Earth is the ultimate artist and it truly delights Her when we bask in her creations and let them inspire our own limitless creativity. 

I officially fell in love with seeing wild mushrooms in nature that day. I remember shaking my head as I pulled my phone from my fanny pack to take pictures. I smiled as I thought, “This man is rubbing off on me.” 

Then, my smile grew even wider when I felt my inner little girl shriek that she couldn’t wait to get home to show him. 

I lost track of time taking more pictures than I remember, hoping to emulate the gorgeous photos the partner takes so effortlessly. 

Despite being the more outwardly artistic one in our relationship, my man’s photos kick my photo’s asses every time. The boy knows how to work a camera!

I’m always learning new ways to slow down and savor the little things, allowing my connection with the people in my life to deepen in the process. 

In a few days, my partner and I will be celebrating our four-year anniversary and I’m already genuinely grateful for the lessons this new year will gift us.

About the writer:

 (she/her) Spiritual Empowerment Coach & Founder/CEO at Journaling is Self-Care LLC

Baltimore, MD

Website: www.journalingisselfcare.com 

Instagram: journalingisselfcarellc

Gratitude to for accepting my invitation to be a guest writer. I was recommended Frida’s Substack and through reading her posts I recognized that we had a shared experience of journaling since young. I was also able to tap back into journaling after going on a hiatus from it thanks to her journal prompts. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

The first time I was taken to the magical gardens made of glass, I was going through a bad breakup. I didn’t know then, as I do now, that the artist was also going through some heavy times when he created the mosaics—much heavier than mine. Creating the Philly Magical Gardens had been the therapy he needed, as he suffered from depression and mental illness. I, on the other hand, had idolized a former lover too much, so much that when things ended, the experience sent me to a dark place.

The breakup with that long-ago lover had shattered something in me, a belief about romantic love, and here was this bizarre space made of shattered glass, teaching me that something broken can also be something beautiful. I tied the once-discarded glass to the unwanted memories I held—both were meant to be repurposed. Seven years would pass before I visited the gardens again. During the second visit I wore my own piece of magical glass on my left ring finger. Betrothed to an incredible human, I had rekindled a fire inside my heart.

Finally, in 2023, I had the pleasure of introducing my little one to the gardens (she is in the picture above). This time, I was passing through Philly on my way home, my family with me. We didn’t have tickets as the trip had been spontaneous, so once again I took in the energy of the trailing murals that blessed the sidewalks. It had been about 15 years since the garden first held my pain and my wonder. Now my two-year-old daughter was exploring the glass mosaics for herself, sensing the sparkle of her own reflection. My own heart had never felt freer.

About the writer:

(she/her), Occupational Therapist & Writer

Location: New York

Gratitude to for being the 5th guest writer. Helen’s Substack was one of the first that I subscribed to and one of the first connections I made her. Her postcard resonates with me so much at this chapter of my life, experiencing some dating disappointments but her story makes me hopeful that I will be on the other side of this chapter one day. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

May 2021. May is for new beginnings again. For fresh, gut-deep nostalgia for the places that were hard to arrive at, harder to leave. For serendipity and wanting to make a home out of a feeling. For the beginning of the rain. It’s for rambutan season. For releasing the shame of not knowing how to pronounce it at first but wanting to taste it still, stopping for a pronunciation lesson while peeling fruit and buying a bag of the lychee-like seed. For art gallery dates that are immediately Geminine slick and street art you need context and time lived on the land to understand. For loosening up, shedding the scent of the place you were in to be unafraid of where you are. To make good friends, for laughter, love, life, for that lovely little month of vibrancy, markets, house dogs barking as you sneak in, tlayudas, mezcal tasting to neo-soul or cumbia; for Oaxaca.

I moved from London with the kind of plan that, looking back at it, was flimsy, in the best and most unknowable way. I chose Oaxaca as my first place to land as I started my journey solo travelling long-term. From my research, Oaxaca was the state that had it all: nature in abundance, Afro-Mexican culture, coasts a drive away, fresh mountains, natural artisanal skin care stores, a reverence for and nearness to Indigenous populations, but most importantly, a city full of artists, to which I would belong. This postcard image is, unexpectedly, 3 years old to the day. Three years ago today, I would walk around the city center to run unnecessary errands and figure out whether I was still enjoying my decision to be here. I was and I wasn’t. It would be the first time I learn how necessary it is for mundanity to exist alongside excitement even while pursuing a dream. Whether on an artfully painted wall on my uphill walk home or in the quiet sanctum of a bookstore, seeking out magic realism, Oaxaca was an unspoken incantation. I’m here, be here, and it was instant relief, if I allowed it. I see now that the excitement has to wane just as it has to come bubbling back into your being, reminding you why you live life like this. The routines turned rituals sit lodged in my camera roll aside the blurred, unexpected pictures born out of fun. This is why I meet May with gratitude reserved for grandparents and elders. For me, it is a month that remembers. It makes you come back to memories for no reason other than to revel and say that you remember it, you lived it for a while.

About the Writer:

(she/her), Travel and Wellness Writer

Location: Wherever my bags are (as said by a nomad)

Start Here

Gratitude to for being the 3rd guest writer of the postcard series. When I invited her to be a guest she politely declined due to being in a season of rest and asked if I was open to considering her for a future month. That future month was May. Life as we know is unpredictable and I got sick. I had to push the release date back to an indefinite date. I appreciate her words, “take good care of yourself”. Although I only know her virtually, she exudes an aura of well-being that is inviting and encouraging. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

A couple weeks ago, my therapist tasked me with writing down all my thoughts for two weeks, EVERY SINGLE ONE, as a way to monitor what I was saying to myself. The results were horrifying. It turns out a good portion of my day was being spent totally enraptured in my thoughts, most of which were surprisingly negative. The thought logging exercise was the push I needed to start getting out of my head and back into my body, which is only possible by being mindful. I walk my dog, RZA, everyday after work. Our walks are currently through my mother’s neighborhood in Tennessee, and lucky for us, it’s spring. I’ve spent so many of these walks inside my head, thinking, thinking, overthinking. Lately though, I’ve used our walks as an opportunity to be present and witness what’s happening all around me. That witnessing is how I ended up with a photo of this tree. I kept passing it and finding myself enraptured by the beauty of its color; I decided to take a photograph of the tree, and it's now my phone screensaver. This photo is a reminder that there is beauty all around us, but it can only be appreciated if we take the time to recognize it.

About the Writer:

, Freelance Writer and Communications Specialist

Location: Brooklyn, NY

Instagram

Website

Gratitude to being the 2nd guest writer of the postcard series. We connected here through her post mentioning living and returning to NY that sparked a DM conversation about her experience living in NY. This is an aspiration of mine that I seesaw with. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.

It's been 5 years since I planted roots in Dallas, Texas. I can admit that most of those years were spent searching for myself and a place to belong. It was as if this past weekend was what I was journeying toward all along. I can't pretend that putting this view into words is easy because I am still processing the expansiveness of the experience and sometimes words don't suffice but here I am. I wasn’t booked for just one wellness event but three and Mindfulness in The Park was the last event of the weekend. I arrive at Central Square Park feeling nervous but also struck by a deep knowing that this is where I'm supposed to be. I’m greeted with the warmest hugs by Elise the founder of Good Girl Movement, a non-profit organization that provides holistic wellness resources for girls undergoing psychological distress from ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences). Along with other women, I had been invited out to raise awareness and funds for the foundation through sharing my gifts.  If I didn’t understand the energy of collaboration before, I was experiencing it in its rawest form at this moment. Looking around I was overwhelmed by the amount of support and service that each person was willing to bring forth to a cause that mattered. As a result, we created something special that was so much bigger than each of us and that's community to me. It's building across and working with what you have to build something substantial that benefits the good of all. It's an Expansive Collaboration.

About the Writer:

Tiana, Wellness Facilitator and above all else a Sacred Rebel

Dallas, Texas

Follow Tiana on Instagram: tianainflow

Gratitude to for being the first guest writer of this series. I wanted her to be the first because she was the first to engage with A View with a View on the threads. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing. If you want to read the past postcards click here.

I took a Friday off work and a train straight to New York. My girl friend and I ventured to Brooklyn to see Spike Lee’s Creative Sources exhibit. We are both novices to navigating the New York subways but we prevailed. We got more confident in trusting our guts as the day went along and even when we made the wrong choice we we were not too far off. I appreciated the exhibit for many reasons, one - being that Spike Lee’s films are some of my favorite and he has impacted our culture so much while being his unique self, two - he is alive to receive his flowers, three - his vast collection of art, photography, and more was inspiring and fascinating, it told a story of his inspiration, mentors, vision, and journey. The exhibit was engaging and interactive. We learned that Spike would be signing books the following day as well as the First Saturday party (I plan to attend one soon), and although in the moment we wished we could have visited on Saturday, Friday was actually perfect. I’ve learned that if something is meant to be different it would be seamless to make changes. My friend and I really needed a day off, it was less crowded in the city and the museum. Did I mention that this was just a day trip making it a very long day that we ended with a happy hour margarita and dinner. This trip affirmed me. I returned home feeling confident in my decision making and taking subways in NYC.

About the Writer :

Janel, Community & Experience Designer [me ;p]

Baltimore, MD

Read: Invitation to PAUSE (you are already here)