“isolation” a year later and 2025.

A year ago I went to a party, came back home, cried, and wrote about it as the trees beat against my bedroom windows from violent winds. “Isolation” is a sleeper hit amongst the pieces I wrote last year in rank amongst “Nightrun”, “Via Princessa”, and “god help the child”. Also, if you’re reading this, go to my Insta and leave an emoji with your favorite fruit under the image for this post. I’m trying something.

My grandma was still alive, and 75, when I wrote “Isolation”. I’d be dragging my brother Justin to the Amtrak the next day to South Carolina for her birthday on March 12th. A year later, she’s gone and I’m unsure how I want to honor her for her birthday but I have a feeling she’d just want me to smile and feel some type of joy. I’m unsure I can do that - but I’ll fake it for the idea of making her happy on her day.

Honestly, I took a nap and woke-up and had re-read this and on second thought my grandma would have not wanted me to have to fake being happy. I’ve only seen my grandma in my dreams twice since she passed - the first time being so unimportant and just a glimpse and the second time being only slightly more present. Still, I wonder if I could invite her into that subconscious space of mine and ask for advice. I have a feeling what she would say.

“Move on,” she would say. “Let go,” My grandma always reminded me to live my dream and life for myself.

“Isolation” was written to pick off where “2_16_ohno” left off which was inspired by “Machinations” so “Isolation” is low-key a grandchild. It’s the only song I’ve cried while actually writing. Not full on bawling, but I was down bad boots wig. By the time I’d written the song I’d been home from New York for a little under two months. Baltimore was not a place I needed to feel lonely in. I find myself revisiting this feeling often still. At that moment, when thinking of my friends who’d left on their own adventures or just people in general who’s boundaries wave more than a flag in Chicago (which I miss dearly).

Which brings me to this year, 2025, and that feeling of isolation. Chicago is a city I don’t mind being alone in. The windy city has an element of wonderment along the lakefront or the distant skyline seen from the many Southside beaches. I had it all for a moment and gave it up thinking I would return and pick up where I left off.

That didn’t happen. A little over a week into coming back to Baltimore, my best friend and I got into a friendship defining argument and now I just look like a clown with a pie on my face. Bits and pieces of other relationships break off like icebergs breaking apart due to climate change and there’s been little interventions that have made positivity more hopeful, but the general consensus is that its time to leave again and possibly for good.

I always tell everyone else “Everything ain’t for everybody,” and it’s about time I internalize my own message. And I have. And it’s been hard as fuck! I think about relationships where I’ve shown up without reciprocity. I think about resources I’ve shared without receiving the same consideration. This is the proactive, loving essence my matriarchs instilled in me - that if you see something that needs to be done, just do it. But, as my mama always say, even a mule gets tired. And I’m burned out. Bad.

The wind is a lot quieter tonight. The weather was in the 60s today. There is no Studio 10 or party to write about. Instead, I think I’m gonna pick up a book and read. Happy birthday “Isolation”. Better days will come.