escapism

There are very few things that get me going like the guitar riff in "Gravity."

Photo by Ali Kazal on Unsplash

Sometimes, I think it’s important to say the trivial things, if only to give our minds the freedom to live in the not-so-serious. Everything isn’t breaking news, y’all.

And so here’s my attempt at that.

My husband recently commented on my resurging obsession with John Mayer, and I told him I was on the hunt for my “summer chill vibes.” Especially as a busy mom, it’s not easy to manufacture that feeling in the middle of juice spills, meltdowns, and twin toddlers newly learning to walk.

At first, I couldn’t name the feeling I was chasing. But then I thought about my other nostalgia-lite (or maybe not-so-lite) pop culture habits lately—the shows I’ve rewatched, the books I’ve returned to year after year, the journals that inspired me to restart this very blog. Maybe part of it is connected to mental health (and I’m more than okay with that; I’d rather live here in familiar territory).

But there’s something about those guitar riffs. They feel like a warm embrace. A slow dance in the kitchen that I rarely get these days. A hand that caresses my cheek and pulls me into the waves of words I’d love to melt into. Characters I know feel like old friends, and there’s such comfort in drifting…

…into the familiarity of escape.

As a mom, it’s hard to carve out a break from the noise—both in the room and in my own head. But simply as Aubrey? There’s a part of me, anxious and image-conscious, that has recently found joy in embracing a softer version of myself. The one who lives in the getaway cars of book heroines. Who thrills at the carefully packaged danger of a novel about risk and rescue but gets to set it down when the story ends.

And that longing persists. It rests in my belly, waiting for new adventures to unfold.

There’s no profound thesis here. I think I just want to remind us all that there’s a dreamer in each of us. And life with all of its busy, loud, and overwhelming action, rarely gives him or her permission to come out and play.

When I look at my children— when I watch my four-year-old turn a cardboard box into a rocket ship or a horse-drawn carriage, when I chase my toddlers and curate giggles with made-up songs—I’m reminded of how accessible wonder really is.

I’ve decided that I want to write fiction someday, maybe even join the ranks of the “stay-at-home mom turned NYT bestseller” club. And not just because I grew up with J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer as my guides. Not just to pen another steamy romance that would get me side-eyed if my audiobook played on speaker.

No, I think there is a beautiful innocence attached to fiction-writing. It’s an outlet that allows us to explore those worlds that everyone told us could never exist. It helps us resolve those wounds that lie buried deep. And it provides a portal into escapism that we all desperately need right now.

I love the feeling of floating I get every time I watch Almanzo and Laura run towards each other in that open field in Little House on the Prairie. I love how the notes of Edge of Desire or Turning Page (that one is by Sleeping at Last, and it’s one of my top 5 of ALL time songs—check it out) still make me sigh in that ever-so girlish way. I long for that fresh air I basked in while visiting the PNW a few years ago; nostalgia found me in the landscape of my favorite book series.

There was a girl who once, deep down, loved the idea of a soft and dreamy life—a life that so many Black girls never get to live out, one rarely advertised to us. But that nerdy girl, the one surrounded by mountains and water and nature and clouds, still lives in my heart.

When I think about being that teenage girl, I was always racing from that innocence, so hungry for that knowledge that comes with life, the edginess of being so aware of the world that you’re above all that “kid stuff.”

What did Andy say in that scene on The Office?

“I wish there was a way to know you were in the good old days before you actually left them.”

Those good ole days may be in the rearview, but I’m choosing to let them color the road ahead too. Here’s a warm, welcoming embrace for young Aubrey, who just wanted to romanticize her life. I’m sprinkling her in where I can.

Most of these reflections are an invitation back to that girl. I’ve found that we can dwell on the past, sit in what we “should have” cherished. Or we can invite ourselves to continue dreaming, continue the story, fight for the adventure. There is so much beauty and wonder to discover in this world. No matter who tries to strip that away, keep chasing after it. It’s the best kind of resistance.

I know this isn’t the big, weighty post I teased y’all with. But if I’m honest? I don’t spend all my time knee-deep in theology or unraveling the world’s problems. I’m not just a woman of big ideas and heavy reflections—I’m also a dreamer, learning again how to embrace the soft and silly.

Today, I’m letting myself bask in life’s sweetest escapes. Art. Music. Stories. All the vibes. They’re portals back to that girl who simply wanted to dream.

And so my friends, I hope your escapes—however small—are sweet today too.