“Serendipity, Sisterhood, & Serenity”

Serendipity
So many wonderful encounters happened for me in 2023 and 2024. I am grateful the magic has carried over into 2025. But here’s the thing: Until these events occurred, I had never even imagined them. So here I am now, in retrospect, pondering the words from the old Negro Spiritual, “How I Got Over – My Soul Looks Back in Wonder!”
It’s very humbling. It’s as if I have been floating on a dream.

Just imagine. I live an amazing life as a full-time poet, essayist, visual artist, and burgeoning gratitude coach. For adventure, I glide along the currents of a natural waterfall in the El Yunque Rain Forest in Puerto Rico. For inspiration, I enjoy fresh papaya on a sun-drenched balcony overlooking the ocean in Panama, when it’s 20 degrees Fahrenheit and snowing back home in Philadelphia. For relaxation, I close my eyes, and I am being pampered at a Black women writers retreat at a luxury bed and breakfast.
I am floating on a dream.

For confirmation from the universe, I am commissioned to write a poem and perform it on one of Philadelphia’s most iconic stages. I am a presenter on a panel at an internationally renowned Black poetry conference. I sit two feet away from a self-made Black woman multi-millionaire who tells me how I can achieve the same. I snap a selfie with a television personality and Broadway star I had gushed over from afar.
I am floating on a dream.

I take a moment to meditate at a breathtaking vista overlooking the Berkshire Mountains in Massachusetts. I am mentioned in the Philadelphia Inquirer newspaper for volunteering with an amazing sisterhood – a health initiative whose handiwork is helping women and girls around the world. All of this sounds like a dream. But in reality, this is not a dream. I am describing my real life.

There is, however, one miracle that I am fully aware of. In my waking life and in my dreams, I am acutely aware of my mature age. There are no words to express how grateful I am for all of these silver hairs on my head. I look forward to October 2025, when I turn 70. That’s three score and ten. And even though my Dad lived to be 99, and my Mother lived to be 91 years of age, I am only a scant seven and a half years away from 76.5, the average life expectancy for Black women in America. So, for these and many more reasons, I have decided to celebrate my 70th starting now, with this essay of gratitude and thanks for the miracles I have been blessed with.

Floating On A Dream
During that first week of January of 2024, I met the phenomenal author, entrepreneur, and Black female venture capitalist Arlan Hamilton – thanks to a book signing organized by Jeannine A. Cook, founder, and CEO of Harriett’s Bookshop. Arlan – who went from being homeless to becoming a multimillionaire – set the tone I yearned for. She spoke life into the possibilities of manifestation. She said we need to squash any thoughts of imposter syndrome, and that her book, Your First Million, “is about the fact that all of us in this room can be and should be millionaires. If nothing else, just be delusional with me!” (I recall thinking, “I’m with you Arlan!”)

In February of 2024, my photography was featured in a group exhibit at “Third Street” a renowned art gallery in Philadelphia – thanks to an invitation from the award winning watercolorist Clement DaVinci. Also, during that first quarter of 2024 I spent a few days relaxing in Puerto Rico, where I donned a life-jacket over my bathing suit, and slid down a natural waterfall in the El Yunque Rain Forest. First time I had ever done anything like this. In March, I was blessed to be chosen for “A Room to Write (& Rest!)” a weekend retreat at a luxury bed and breakfast for Black women writers, that was inspired by Maya Angelou. This event was also made possible by the largesse of Jeannine A. Cook, as well as Misty Sol, the founder, and CEO of Tiny Farm Wagon, an art, culture, and wellness nonprofit. Also in March, I accompanied myself on piano while reciting my poetry at Harriett’s Book Shop during a glorious celebration of women musicians, authors, and artists curated by the phenomenal vocalist Denise King.

That June, I got a call from radio legend and cultural arts journalist Dyana Williams one of the founders of Black Music Month. She commissioned me to write a tribute poem acknowledging the prolific contributions of internationally renowned Sounds of Philadelphia producers and composers Kenny Gamble, Leon Huff, & Thom Bell, in honor of Black Music Month’s 45th anniversary. In addition to writing the poem, she hired me to perform it as the opening act for the Black Music Month concert she produced at the iconic Dell East Amphitheater in Philadelphia’s beautiful Fairmount Park. Let me tell you. This is the stuff dreams are made of. Commissioned to write a poem and perform it at the Dell? And getting a check in the mail? Yes! But the real magic is that I never even had the vision to dream up this miracle in the first place.

Synchronicity

In February of 2024, I got a call from my homegirl Rhanda Rize, an absolutely brilliant singer, songwriter, poet, actor, and filmmaker. I am so humbled that I am one of the featured poets interviewed for her 2023 film, “Song of a Soul Sistah – A Tribute to Ntozake Shange.” She was calling to ask if I wanted to be included in her proposal to feature the film for the Furious Flower IV International Black Poetry Conference. “Yes!” was my enthusiastic reply. “Thank you for thinking of me!” Flash forward to September 2024. Rhanda presided over “Song of a Soul Sistah: A Film Screening and Panel Discussion.” After the film was screened, Rhanda reprised a monologue from Ntozake’s landmark play/choreopoem, “For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enough.” During the presentation, along with fellow poet-homegirls Pat McClean-Smith, and Dr. Kimmika Williams-Witherspoon, I performed poetry and fielded questions. Furious Flower is an astonishing gathering that only convenes once every ten years. Hundreds of Black poets from around the world gathered at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, Virginia, including Rita Dove, Ross Gay, Kwame Dawes, Elizabeth Alexander, Patricia Smith, Jessica Care Moore, Tony Medina, Jericho Brown, Nikki Finney, Malika Booker, E. Ethelbert Miller, A.B. Spellman, and so many others. Furious Flower’s creation was inspired by Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem, which states in part,
“The time
cracks into furious flower. Lifts its face
all unashamed. And sways in wicked grace.”

Founded by Dr. Joanne Veal Gabbin, through the years, Furious Flower has honored the likes of Nikki Giovanni, James Baldwin, Maya Angelou, Amiri Baraka, and Sonia Sanchez. I still get chills every time I think about being just one small part of 2024’s monolithic fourth convening. The chief organizer was Lauren K. Alleyne, Executive Director of the Furious Flower Poetry Center, the nation’s first academic center for Black poetry.

Speaking of Black poetry. Also in September of 2024, I had the awesome privilege of being one of 30 poets chosen to read Cultural Treasure Sonia Sanchez’s poetry to her during a celebration for her 90th birthday at the Barnes Foundation in Philadelphia. Again, the stuff dreams are made of!

As The Story Unfolds

I never get tired of looking at beautiful room settings, or the process that goes into creating them. In June of 2024, I was captivated by “Breaking New Ground,” a television series about the renovation of a dilapidated 1820s mansion in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. What made this storyline so unique, was that the owner, Robert Hartwell – an openly gay Black man and former Broadway dancer – paid $379,000 cash for the property on Juneteenth in 2020, went viral in the moment on Instagram, qualified for a $1.5 million dollar construction loan to fix it up, and netted a reality tv show via the Oprah Winfrey Network.

At the time I discovered the show, (and immediately fell in love with Robert’s effervescence, joi de vivre, and resilience), I was not aware that the small town of Great Barrington was in a region called the Berkshires. And although I have studied his books over the course of many decades, I was only vaguely aware that the prolific author, scholar, and Civil Rights activist W.E.B. DuBois, had been born in a place called Great Barrington in 1868. And I certainly could never have imagined that before 2024 was over, I would spend a week in the Berkshires, say a prayer at the site where W.E.B. DuBois was born, drive by the Hartwell Mansion, and capture a photograph of its signature double red doors. And, to carry the serendipity and synchronicity even further, never could I have imagined that in February of 2025, I would meet Robert Hartwell in person in New York City for one of his exclusive dinner parties. But I did.

Sisterhood

As a Black woman, I have experienced the profound richness of being in community with my sisters, of shared interests, shared resources, depths of emotion, galaxies of tears, mountains of gratitude, and oceans of laughter. Back in May of 2023, artist, activist, and elected official Aziza Zenzile Kebe invited me to “National Period Poverty Awareness Day,” a make it-take it workshop hosted by the Sharon Hill, Pennsylvania Art and Culture Commission.

“There is a real issue with girls not having access to menstrual products, so we will be educating and making reusable pads,” Aziza said.

I attended the program, which was facilitated by artist and activist Maisha Ongozo Sullivan. And that is where I learned about PASHI, the Pan African Sisterhood Health Initiative, of which Maisha is the coordinator and one of the co-founders. Maisha said, “Since 2019, PASHI, a community-based volunteer project in Philly, has produced and distributed thousands of reusable menstrual pads, bags, and other personal hygiene items to various countries in Africa, to other diverse places throughout the Diaspora, and locally in the Philadelphia region.”

Several dozen women, men, and elected officials of all ages and races, brought their sewing machines to the Sharon Hill Borough Hall for the event, and churned out beautifully handcrafted nontoxic, hygienic, environmentally friendly reusable menstrual pads. I was so moved I joined PASHI on the spot and have been volunteering ever since. I even recruited my sister Stephanie Dove, and my cousin Dorotheia Hilton to join as well. (By the way, I have zero aptitude for sewing. PASHI volunteers welcomed me into the fold and taught me how to complete tasks in the pad-making process that do not require the use of a sewing machine.)

Jacki Wilkins is among the many women (and a few men) I befriended at PASHI. We were seated next to each other one day and quickly realized we had so much in common, like our ages, graduation dates, the ages of our children, being a middle child, and our mutual love for the African Diaspora, travel, art, music, and culture. We also realized we knew people in common, although Jacki had been raised in Massachusetts, and had lived there most of her life until recent years, and I have been a diehard Philadelphian all of my life.

“It’s really a typical thing at PASHI for the women there to be comfortable with one another and not have any barriers to our accepting each other, knowing each other. We’re all sort of open to what each other is about,” Jacki said, and I couldn’t agree more.

The easy conversation that Jacki and I had – and the way we bonded – is the same kind of easy conversation and flow I’ve had with many of the PASHI members. In October of 2024, during one of those rambling conversations as a group of us sat around one of the PASHI worktables constructing pads, I learned that Jacki owned a timeshare in in Lee, Massachusetts. She had not been there in years but was planning a trip for November. She said she had room for two of us to join her. Hmmm….my interest was piqued. Tell me more. And this is when I learned that Great Barrington, and Stockbridge – towns adjacent to Lee – were all located in a region called the Berkshire Mountains. Ding! Ding! Ding! Great Barrington! W.E.B. DuBois! Robert Hartwell! Oh, I would love to go, I told her.

Serenity

At first two of us were going to take the trip with Jacki, but our other PASHI sister had a change of plans, so it turned out to be just Jacki and myself. We departed from Philadelphia on a chilly, partly sunny, partly cloudy November afternoon for the four-hour drive, with Jacki at the wheel the entire time.

“That was the first time I’d been back to my timeshare since before COVID,” Jacki recalled recently as we reminisced about our trip. “The fact that I drove is not a big deal. I drive everywhere I go pretty much. There’s a stretch of the road where I enjoy driving. It’s kind of in a valley but you can tell that you are climbing in altitude so to speak, and the views start getting pretty. So I always look forward to that part once we’re past New Jersey and past New York City and all of the developed areas. Things start getting spaced out. Less densely populated. More rural-like.”

I did not know it yet on the beautiful ride up to the Berkshires, but I was to be astounded even more by the region’s natural beauty when Jacki took me to a yoga retreat and wellness center I had never heard of called Kripalu. We took a tour of the grounds. The views were spectacular, just spectacular. Inside, the hushed environment was pristine, airy, luxurious, inviting. Following the tour, we ate a delicious lunch in their farm to table restaurant. We made appointments to come back later that week for therapeutic ayurvedic massages, an ancient practice rooted in traditional Indian medicine.

As Jacki and I continued to reminisce, she said: “This particular trip, going to Kripalu was the most memorable. Because it restored my health in a way that I’m just now coming down from months later. The magic of that massage really helped me with my circulation, and my energy level.” I too, took immense gratitude, pleasure, and thanks for the ayurvedic massage, another first for me. But whoa! I am getting way ahead of myself.

Truly, taking in the dazzling Housatonic River views, and quaint pastures while traveling through the beautiful spaciousness and awesome natural surrounds of the Berkshire Mountains captured my heart. If I am to be honest, the bucolic scenery also heightened my awareness and lowered my cortisol levels. The increased sense of peace was palpable. It’s hard to even explain in words the joy I felt being in the Berkshire Mountains for the very first time, and the gratitude I felt for Jacki’s generosity. That feeling of serenity stayed with me the entire time I was there, and returns to me every time I think about it.

When we arrived at the resort’s welcome center, the first thing we noticed was that Robert Hartwell was featured on the cover of the Fall 2024 edition of “The B” magazine. OMG! The serendipity continues.

Once settled into the apartment, we used “The B” magazine plus tourism pamphlets we’d gathered up at the welcome center to plan our week. But our days weren’t tightly scheduled. We allowed space for spontaneity as the week unfolded. We each spent a lot of individual time doing our own thing inside the apartment, which had a lovely balcony with a scenic view; we took advantage of being out in nature (there was a meandering creek and wooded area just outside); and we also each spent time alone exploring the grounds of the resort.

During the week we also visited Karen Allen, the eponymous fashion and crafts boutique owned by the actor perhaps best known for her role opposite Harrison Ford in the film Raiders of the Lost Ark. We went to the Norman Rockwell Museum, and ate breakfast at Joe’s Diner, the setting depicted in Norman Rockwell’s 1958 cover illustration for the Saturday Evening Post called “The Runaway.” And of course, we drove by the street where the Hartwell Mansion is located. One day Jacki drove us over to where W.E.B. DuBois had been born. The actual house is no longer there but the site is marked with signage and secured by a gate. Then she remembered there had been a W.E.B. DuBois Museum, she had always wanted to see, so we drove over there. But the museum was gone! In its place was the Lauren Clark Gallery. Ah! We had read about Lauren in “The B” magazine, and learned that she was centrally involved with a committee organized to erect a life-size bronze monument to W.E.B. DuBois in front of Great Barrington’s Mason Public Library on Main Street.

(As a sidenote, it turns out that I am very aware of the sculptor chosen to create the W.E.B. DuBois monument. Richard Blake hails from Philadelphia and lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. We were both included in a Black History Month Group Exhibit curated by Dane Tilghman in February 2023 at the Chester County Pennsylvania Art Association. More serendipity, more synchronicity! Richard Blake is an extraordinary artist who is a National Sculpture Society Medal of Honor recipient and graduate of the prestigious Tyler School of Art at Temple University.)

But back to the story…Lauren received us into her gallery with a big smile and friendly conversation. She told us Robert Hartwell had been there once inquiring about picture frames. When we asked, she gave us directions to Baba Louie’s – a restaurant we were trying to find that had moved since the last time Jacki had been in Great Barrington. As we were getting acquainted, Lauren offered us a seat on a beautiful yellow chaise lounge, introduced us to other visitors to the gallery, and generally made us feel welcome. Indeed, welcoming is a word I would use to characterize the trip to the Berkshires, and welcoming is word I would also use to describe all of the wonderful events and experiences I have detailed in the paragraphs of this essay.

Grace and Mercy

I ended 2024 by taking a Christmas vacation to Panama, a place I had always wanted to visit. Although I started writing this essay in November of 2024, and had intended to complete it while I was in Panama, I am just now finishing it on the Vernal Equinox, the first day of Spring – March 20, 2025. I am reminded to pause and pay gratitude for all the blessings. My word for 2025 is manifestation. And while I am still open to spontaneous graces, miracles, and mercies, I am setting much clearer intentions for this year. I am setting concrete goals I want to reach by my 70th birthday in October.

In order to reach these elevated goals, I am reaching out for help, and changing up ineffective patterns of behavior. After all, Toni Morrison said, “If you want to fly, you have to give up the things that weigh you down.” So instead of agonizing and complaining about the ubiquitous nature of technology, I have established a routine of using technology more to my advantage. I reactivated my blog, and I post to social media daily. Being a free spirit and following my wanderlust is one thing, but aimlessly spinning around in my own orbit no longer serves me. So I joined a writer’s mastermind group, and hired a business coach. After reading my intake form, my business coach suggested that I may want to dial back on my ambitions because they are “so unrealistic.”

However, I am undaunted by the coach’s concerns. I fully realize that as a certified professional, they would be irresponsible if they did not call me out on the utter ridiculousness I wrote down on that piece of paper. I hold my tongue and take Harriet Tubman’s quote to heart: “Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.”

Believe me when I tell you I am humbled and in awe over what the universe served me over these past few years, even without any fancy agenda. I think to myself, “Just imagine what I am capable of accomplishing with a plan!” After all, I am the woman who – without any specific goals or objectives in mind – magically manifested “Serendipity, Sisterhood, and Serenity.” Ashe!