Shots to the Head

Nola finally makes it to my apartment, and I already have one rolled up for us. We go way back—about twenty years now. She’s the only person I confide in besides my mother. As always, she comes bearing gifts: two copies of All About Love by bell hooks, a recommendation from a healer we both follow online. I don’t know many people as thoughtful as her. I’m grateful for her friendship. “Have you been to the animal sanctuary yet?” she asks. “Not yet,” I say. “Word,” she replies. “We should go. I’ll invite Chi!” Chi—a mutual friend from school. I love her energy too. A reunion is long overdue. I change into the black Ted Baker suit I bought for my paternal grandfather’s funeral a few weeks ago. It was a great deal, and honestly, too nice to let collect dust in my closet. I pair it with a crisp white shirt and black tie. As we set up for photos, I take down my Icy and Sot artwork from the wall to clear the space. It leans against another piece I still haven’t decided where to hang. We spend a few moments adjusting the lighting in my living room before Nola starts taking test shots. When she shows me the first round, I hate what I see. The images are too clear—so clear I wonder if I’ve ever seen myself clearly at all. I’ve always been one of those people who look better in person than in photos—and that’s not just me talking; Facebook-era receipts confirm it. I ask Nola to take a few more. This time I wear my glasses—something to distract the camera, or maybe me. I reposition slightly, recalling my traumatic childhood modeling days, force a smile, and pray at least one picture turns out decent. I’m only doing this because I earned my real estate license while living in New York, and figured I might as well put it to use here in Atlanta. My paternal grandmother wants to sell, and our mutual friend Mia—an Aries and real estate powerhouse—promised she could plug me in. After the shoot, I roll another one. Overthinking is my vice and my habit. Between puffs, Nola and I swap reviews of the new Fenty Skin products. She’s a Pisces, too, so self-care and self-preservation are regular themes in our conversations. I’ve been carving out a routine, trying to feel more like myself—more consistently. There’s comfort in ritual. I’ve found joy researching holistic remedies: black castor oil for calluses, witch hazel for my face, coconut oil after long hot showers. I’m still experimenting with essential oils, but I love the way they feel and smell. When you start thinking about nurturing your entire being—body, mind, and spirit—holistic care becomes irresistible. Everyone’s body speaks differently. It’s up to us to listen, to learn its language. And the best investment we’ll ever make? The one we make in ourselves.