SDAWP SI 2025

  The Case for Afrofuturism and Black Horror Writing: Envisioning Future Survival Graphic/Trigger Warning. There are some disturbing, frightening, graphic images. 

*This is an in-progress draft :)  In Conversation with a Mental State Interviewer: Welcome back, we are glad you’re here! We have a great guest with us today. We are excited to get into conversation with Doubt! Doubt is the author of a new book, In Solidarity: How Doubt Leads You to Confidence . She demystifies misconceptions around her role and clarifies her purpose as a partner to help people reach toward their higher selves. Doubt, thanks for being here with us today.  Doubt: Thank you so much for having me!  Interviewer: So, let’s just jump right in. Doubt, can you tell us about yourself and your role as a partner with folx?  Doubt: Yeah, thank you so much for asking! I think I would categorize myself formally as a consultant, but I like to consider myself a thought partner. I think it’s a little bit more informal, but I do think it captures the dialogic approach I take when working with someone. I usually show up when folx have new opportunities, are making big...

 The thing about excursions is that they’re not as glamorous as what’s advertised.  They herd you like cattle to a bus or a van and give very little information about how long it will take to get to the destination.   While on a cruise with my wife and some friends, I was unprepared to spend almost 45 minutes on a bus, a single adventurer among partnered up strangers, driving up the coast of Grand Cayman in the Caribbean.   The thing about plans is that sometimes they change.  I was solo because my friend who was signed up to come with me on this excursion had to change her plan at the last minute because her wife was scared and crying about their stupid sunken ship snorkeling trip and she had to go with her to be supportive.  Once we arrived to the Dolphin Discovery Center, I was able to move quickly, my singleness paying off.  I was the first to cue up on the dock. The thing about life vests is they’re torture devices universally referred to as safet...

As a special education teacher, I entered this profession with a heart full of purpose: to make a difference for students who often go unheard, overlooked, or underestimated. Every day, I see the light in my students’ eyes when they make progress that others said was impossible. I witness resilience, growth, humor, and brilliance in forms that don’t always fit inside a box. These moments are what drive me. But lately, my days have become a tug-of-war between two equally important missions—supporting my students and meeting the ever-growing demands of compliance and paperwork. I understand the value of documentation. I know IEPs are legal tools that protect students’ rights and ensure their needs are met. But I also know this: When I’m in front of a computer, I’m not in front of a student. Every hour spent tracking data, chasing signatures, or deciphering ever-shifting guidelines is an hour I’m not connecting, teaching, modeling, or comforting. I shouldn’t have to choose between compli...

  Love Songs Excerpt

Modern-day fables based on real life and fallible memory I have two moments that keep me grounded. They’re times I recall being intensely present and trying to really see another human, who might be otherwise easy to look past. I play the moments in my head when I'm spinning, so I can try to return to earth. I hate that memory is flawed, because it saddens me to think that what feels like such deeply personal and authentic experiences have been re-written to erase what was actually there in the moment. The very authenticity and grounding that I get from reflecting on these moments might be a result of my brain’s inventions, and not the true facts of each situation.  What a disappointment. But, they’re still serving their purpose, and I can hold them in that way in my head. They’re likely flawed, and I don’t need to cling to them as the truth-the-whole-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth-so-help-me-god. That disappointment and gentle holding of these stories can also be a part of t...

“Alexa, art.” This is how a nearly two-and-a-half minute Instagram reel starts. These words are said by a sassy Gray parrot named Molly. She is reciting these words to the Amazon smart speaker in the room. The Alexa device produces a farting sound and then generates a description of the sound that was just produced (“That was a triumphant one”). After describing the sound, there’s the Alexa voice beckoning the parrot to continue interacting with the speaker (“Ask me for a gassy fart”). The video proceeds to feature the same pattern over and over again. Bless the humans that made this all possible. That might not be your first thought, because there are no humans in the video. However, they’re the creative minds who are pulling all the strings and making this clip a reality. As AI becomes increasingly ubiquitous, I think it’s important to recognize the brilliance of humans, and the limitations of AI.  Too often, I see people responding to AI with amazement that gives credit and att...

  Dear Raya, Your sisters call me Masi. Or Mas.  To put it simply, I am the original Masi. In our language, Gujarati, it means I am your mom’s sister. But it means more than that, too. It means I get to be your second mother. It means I get to show up, spoil you, protect you, and be your safe place when the world feels too loud. I’ve done that with your sisters. And I was ready to do that for you, too. Author Bessel van der Kolk wrote a book called The Body Keeps the Score . In it, he talks about how even when we try to ignore or forget trauma, our bodies remember it. That must be why, this past November, I felt an ache I couldn’t explain—like my heart was heavy, but wrapped in numbness. It was a strange kind of sadness, quiet but consuming. I hadn’t realized that grief could live so deeply in the body, long after the moment has passed. I came to see you that day—the day you came out of your mommy’s belly. I remember the weight of the room, how everything felt suspended in tim...

☆ Last year, I did not know what I was doing with my life. I was between jobs, working odds and ends. At the time, my brother in law was managing a small construction project for a residential kitchen. He offered to train me. Me, with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Literature and a work history toting the likes of Starbucks, tutoring, and Trader Joe's.... But I was desperate for work. So I agreed.  What began was six months of 10 hour days and silent, hands on, physically exhausting work. It was just the two of us, 6am to 6pm, tearing up floors, hammering down walls, rewiring the electrical system, sanding doorframes, tiling the backsplash -- anything you can think of for a complete kitchen remodel. At the time, I saw myself as a septum-pierced girly-girl, not as someone capable or strong. Even though I got some weird looks from the couple of other guys that would visit the site to do plumbing or a junkyard run, when it came to the work itself -- to the tearing and sawing and wiring ...