I spent a lot of May thinking about what it means to outgrow something, much in the way that a child eventually outgrows a favorite pair of shoes. The shoes were good shoes. They carried you exactly where you needed to go. They just aren’t meant to carry you forever. That is how I feel about the previous version of I Love Us.
For the past two years, this platform has given me opportunities I could have only imagined when I purchased a domain name and decided to start documenting Black culture in a way that felt meaningful to me. It introduced me to artists whose work had already changed my life. It gave me a reason to ask questions that I genuinely wanted answered. It put me in rooms I once hoped I might enter someday and connected me with readers who believed thoughtful storytelling about Black life was still worth making space for. There is now a version of me that only exists because I said yes to building I Love Us.
That version of me covered exhibits and concerts. She interviewed Grammy winners and emerging artists. She wrote about Black history, Black joy, Black grief, Black memory, and Black possibility. She spent countless hours convincing herself she was qualified to tell stories that mattered before finally accepting that perhaps the qualification was caring enough to tell them well. I will always be grateful to her. I am equally grateful to the version of myself writing this letter today.
One of the unexpected gifts of this transition has been realizing that I no longer feel the need to separate my voice from the platform. For a long time, I Love Us felt like something adjacent to me. It was mine, but it wasn’t fully me. These days, that distinction isn’t as important. The stories are still here. The curiosity is still here. The desire to document Black life with care and intention is still here. The only real difference is that I am allowing more of myself to exist on the page.
It also feels fitting that this shift is happening during Black Music Month, which remains my favorite time of year to write. Anyone who has worked with me knows that I become almost unbearably excited every June. Black music is one of the few subjects that never feels like work to me. I love hearing artists talk about their creative process. I love tracing influences across generations. I love discovering the ways a single lyric can carry an entire family history, a spiritual practice, or a cultural memory. Black music has always been one of our most enduring archives. Long before many of our stories were formally documented, they were carried in songs.
I’m excited to explore some of these conversations in my freelance writing this month.
The soundtrack for the beginning of this month has been excellent. Tank and the Bangas’ new album, The Last Balloon, has been living in my headphones. The project feels imaginative, vulnerable, and deeply committed to storytelling in the way that only Tank and the Bangas can be. Durand Bernarr’s “My Life” continues to remind me of senior year of high school, which was 20 years ago! Infinity Song’s “Hurricane” has also become a recent obsession. The harmonies alone are worth the replay button.
When I am not listening to music, I have been spending time with a stack of books that all seem to be speaking to one another. Gloria Naylor’s Mama Day is currently occupying my nightstand, which feels appropriate given how often my own thoughts return to ancestry, memory, and the stories that survive because someone cared enough to tell them. Octavia Butler’s A Few Rules for Predicting the Future has reminded me why her work continues to feel prophetic decades after it was written. Sobonfu Somé’s The Spirit of Intimacy has been offering its own lessons about relationships, community, and the ways we show up for one another. Apparently, I am in a season of reading books that ask big questions.
I am also in a season of wearing headwraps.
People often assume there is a single reason for that, but the truth is more layered. Covering my head is part of my spiritual practice. It creates a sense of reverence when I pray and serves as a form of protection when I move through the world. It is also one of my favorite forms of self-expression. I genuinely love the artistry of a headwrap. Give me a long piece of stretchy fabric and I’ll experiment with shapes, folds, and styles. Some days, the headwrap becomes the outfit and everything else simply follows its lead.
A few other favorites have found their way into regular rotation. Zen in a Jar’s insect repellant in It Girl Summer has become essential as the weather gets warmer. Donna’s Recipe‘s Whipped Vanilla Cream Curl Enhancing Gel has been keeping my edges soft while still encouraging them to stay where I put them.
As for where I’ll be this summer, your guess is probably as good as mine. I am still figuring that out. One thing I know for certain is that I want to say yes to more experiences, more conversations, more music, more books, and more opportunities to be in community with people who care about culture as much as I do. The calendar is still relatively open, which means there is plenty of room for adventure. Tell me where I should pull up! What should I be reading, listening to, watching, attending, or exploring this summer?
I’ll see you next Monday.
With love,
Thiy
Cover photo: What’s On My Mind as Summer Approaches/ Credit: Unsplash
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