At the end of the theatre season in June, I promised myself that I would return to this blog, come back to exploring fashion and clothes in the everyday.

Then Orlando happened. Then Alton Sterling… Philando Castile… Dallas… Nice…

How do I make myself sit down and write about something as silly and vapid as clothing when this world is terrifying and unjust and cruel? By writing this blog, am I ignoring the larger conversations happening in the US or across the globe? Why bother to carry on with this when there’s so much more to focus on?

I had a conversation with a friend the other day. While she’s heavily involved in a lot of self-care practices (acupuncture, therapeutic massage, chiropractics), she’s recently started a yoga/mindful movement class and has been absorbing so much if the ideology taught by her teacher. Recently in a class, the teacher explained to her class that the best way to heal the world is to start with healing and caring for yourself. My friend mentioned that in passing and I’ve been dwelling on the thought since.

This blog isn’t a protest against the injustice from the world. And I don’t espouse my political thoughts openly and actively here. I don’t rage and scream and rally for something better in this venue. Why? It’s my refuge, my space to think about the frivolous for a while. While it’s bothered me that I would take time and effort to write here, this blog is a means of caring of myself, I guess.

I’m lucky that both my full-time museum-y position and my part-time theatre job allow me ample intellectual space to think about racial tensions in the US, religious conflict in the world, and the overall constant struggle of humanity throughout time. The expectations of my workplaces is that I’m knowledgeable about these themes and histories, have internal and external dialogs daily, and help educate others — children and adults alike. I’m honored to have these roles and responsibilities, but it’s admittedly exhausting to think non-stop about slavery, war, gender roles, gentrification, etc., without a respite. In the half hour it takes me to write a few paragraphs on skirts or lipsticks or shoes and throw in a few images, I get the mental down time to unwind, breathe and gather myself for the next article or book to read, conversation to have, or, simply, the next news story to pop up on my phone.

I’m hoping, friends, that I’ll make more regular appearances here going forward. But please understand if I don’t. And please understand why I’m not having discourse here on larger life issues: it’s not at all you, but entirely me.