Julia Roberts, Pretty Woman (1990)

My maternal grandmother was 17-years-old when she gave birth to my mother. Instead of returning to high school to complete her senior year, she had to quickly transform from a girl to a woman. She would go on to give birth to two more daughters and work a variety of jobs to make a living. When I was about 7-years-old, she worked at a local dry cleaners. I have faded memories of spending hot summer days at the cleaners with her, pretending to be a worker. My grandmother is now 80-years-old and lives a modest lifestyle in a senior home. Her closet is full of blazers and purses (a few namebrand) that she purchased at the thrift store, which she comically refers to as “The Boutique”.

My paternal grandmother was born in Sunflower, Mississippi, and migrated to Chicago with my grandfather in the 40’s. She spent her life being a stay at home mom to their 4 sons - cooking, cleaning, and baking the most scrumptious cakes I’ve ever tasted in my life, from scratch. Out of the many examples of womanhood I received from my grandmothers, mother and most of the women in my community - they rarely consist of softness and ease. With the exception of teachers, a few 1st ladies, and the women who lived on the pages of EBONY and Essence magazine, there were no “Diahann Carroll’s” or “Claire Huxtable’s” in my daily life. The women around me were beautiful, but burdened. They had millionaire minds, but worked minimum wage jobs. Instead of spending hours at the spa, they spent hours at welfare offices and standing in unemployment lines. They were born into a hard life, before Gen Z informed the world that softness was attainable for all women, regardless of their social status and tax bracket. Did they want more? Absolutely. I know for a fact that they wanted more for me. Were they content? Maybe. However, unlike my generation (millennials), they weren’t consistently immersed with luxury content serving as a daily reminder that what they had was not enough.

Diahann Carroll

As a millennial, I am blessed to have lived in a world prior to advanced technology and social media. Of course, when I was a teenager, there were material things I wanted: Baby Phat clothes, K Swiss shoes, and a colored beeper to be exact. Thankfully, I didn’t always get what I wanted. However, I never realized how much stuff I didn’t have until I became an adult and frequently consumed Instagram and TikTok. I always considered myself to be a “glamour girl”, and spent a few years in the early 2000’s working for MAC Cosmetics. But not even my days of working as a makeup artist and receiving free makeup (gratis), could prepare me for the overwhelming amounts of products the average consumer is expected to have, and actually be able to afford. There once was a time when women had a signature fragrance - a perfume they were known for. It was Elizabeth Taylor’s “White Diamonds” for women in the 90’s. Especially in the Black church. A signature scent is almost unheard of today, as society and social media have convinced us that one bottle of perfume isn’t enough. There is always a push for more and while heading to Sephora to pick up yet another bottle of perfume, I couldn’t help but to ask myself, “When will it be enough? When will I be satisfied?”.

Our aunt recently, and suddenly, passed away. She was the true definition of a rich aunty, before it was trendy. She, along with her husband and daughter, lived in a prestigious neighborhood. They dined at the finest restaurants and frequently traveled domestically and abroad. However, she wasn’t selfish with her wealth. She generously shared it with the family in the form of Christmas gifts, birthday presents, and trips. And yes, she helped us get out of a pickle or two, on multiple occasions.

I have another aunt who isn’t as wealthy. She couldn’t afford to take us on fancy vacations and she didn’t give elaborate gifts. Though my aunts live(d) different lives, they never failed to shower me with an abundance of love. Both aunts gave me what they had and more. And now, more than ever, I’m realizing that what makes a woman beautiful isn’t the amount of money and perfumes she has. The most beautiful woman in the room is the woman who generously shares her love.

Contrary to popular belief, and social media, many women haven’t been on shopping sprees. In 2025, the employment rate of Black women fell by 1.4 percentage points to 55.7% (According to Economic Policy Institute). Meanwhile, gas is $5 a gallon and I recently spent $25 at Potbelly’s for a sandwich, one cup of chilli and a bag of potato chips. These are hard times and I believe many women are navigating through the grueling economy, while managing their social media fantasies through the lens of real world expectations. I thoroughly enjoy scrolling through the glamorous lives of my favorite influencers. Nothing pleases me more than seeing Black women live in luxury, because we deserve beautiful things and experiences. However, it’s time for another story to be uplifted. The story of women who struggled, but finally have mastered their budget. The story of women working on their credit score, saving for a house, and seeking. The story of women who aren’t afforded shopping sprees and closets fill of perfume, but their hearts are pure gold.

Love Always,

Nikki C.

p.s. If you’re in the Chicago area, please come to my upcoming show: The Late Bloomers.

The Late Bloomers is a heartfelt and inspiring live experience created by Nikki Carpenter and Just Steve, blending storytelling and music into an unforgettable evening. The show begins with 45 minutes of Nikki’s intimate, humorous, and moving personal stories about coming into one’s own later in life, followed by a 30-minute live concert featuring Just Steve and a full band, bringing those themes to life through powerful, soul-stirring music. At its core, The Late Bloomers celebrates the beauty of delayed timing, revealing how life’s detours can lead to deeper purpose, love, and fulfillment, and inviting audiences to embrace their own timelines and discover the magic of blooming exactly when they’re meant to. Grab your tickets here.

Last week was a rollercoaster of emotions. If you’ve been tuned in to the state of the world, then you already know there’s a lot occurring in my sweet home, Chicago. Once Friday arrived, I knew I needed to clear my mind and take a drive to my happy place - Afro Joe’s Coffee & Tea. Nestled within the Beverly community, on 99th street, Afro Joe’s is hands down one of my favorite coffee shops in the city. It’s owned and operated by a Black family and they somehow have mastered making every customer feel like that’s exactly what we are - family. Remember the lyrics from the Cheers theme song? “You wanna be where everybody knows your name”? Those are the exact vibes I feel at Afro Joe’s.

I pulled up to Afro Joe’s, but there was nowhere to park in the lot, so I parked across the street. Before crossing the street I noticed a fly Black woman, with big beautiful hair and dark shades standing on the corner. As we began to cross the street I said, “Maybe the cars will stop, since it’s two of us”. We laughed and continued to cross. I asked, “Are you headed to Afro Joe’s?”, to which she replied, “I am. Are you as well?”. “Yep!”.

We entered Afro Joe’s and discussed everything from our children, to desiring purchasing property in the coveted Beverly community, all before ordering Sweet Potato lattes and bacon sandwiches. After ordering my food, I sat at a table and pulled out my laptop to get some work done. My new friend shortly came and sat at the table next to mine after ordering her food. We continued our conversation, which consisted of Chicago Public Schools, press on nails, and creativity. Our coffee came, and because I am dramatic, I prompted us to a toast before taking our first sip. The conversation picked up with her sharing where I can buy the best oud and perfume oils in the city, and me sending her a list of things to do in Brooklyn, since she was heading to CultureCon in a few hours.

We finished our coffee and sandwiches, and I said “Thanks for the breakfast date. I’m so glad we planned this!”, to which she said, “I agree!”. We laughed, followed each other on Instagram and exchanged phone numbers, before saying goodbye. I got in the car and thought to myself, “I just had breakfast with a stranger.” It was unexpected. It was delightful. It was refreshing.

We are living in strange times. I’m challenged to decenter my phone and be more intentional about being present with the world around me. This is where the magic will happen. New connections. Blossoming friendships. Two strangers sharing stories while having breakfast.

Would you ever have breakfast with a stranger? Let me know in the comments.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

I’ve struggled with maintaining a healthy size and weight my entire life. As if the internal struggle about my body wasn’t enough, as a young adult and teenager, I’ve had to endure adults commenting on my body as well. 

“I didn’t know the big girl could do a split!” A very grown woman blurted these words at her daughter’s birthday party at Odyssey Fun World, after I did a split with the rest of my teen peers. 

“I thought you said you lost weight?” A very grown family member asked me this awkward question while swimming. I struggled to make excuses for my 15-year-old body that was going through many changes.

There’s also the many years my stepfather made me feel uncomfortable with food, because he often made jokes about me overeating. I found myself sneaking food to avoid his snarkiness. 

When I was 16-years-old, I joined Weight Watchers with my mom and lost 30 pounds. She congratulated me on doing a beautiful job of dropping the weight and forewarned that this would be a constant struggle. Boy, was she right. 

In retrospect, I wasn’t *that* big. I once heard podcaster and writer Demetria L. Lucas reminisce on Toccara Jones from America’s Next Top Model. She pointed out that Toccara was often referred to as being plus size, but in actuality she was maybe a size 12 or 14. That was me. I look at old pictures of myself and all I see is a healthy shaped girl. My stomach was flat and I had curves in all the right places. I wish I could go back in time and relieve myself of having negative body images. It crippled me from moments of joy. I have vivid memories of me opting out of going to campus events in college or hanging with friends as a young adult, because I was ashamed of my body. I often fantasize about how everything will be much more enjoyable after I lose weight. 

*Over the years I’ve lost weight in spurts, but nothing significant. While trying to lose weight for our wedding, I somehow managed to gain weight. And then came the baby weight, covid  weight loss, covid weight gain and now the most intrusive weight gain from recently being diagnosed with mild sleep apnea. 

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It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

June is the official opener for summer. Something about June makes me feel… lighter. Somehow, the longer days mixed with warmer weather, gives me permission to loosen up and let my hair down. The anticipation for Juneteenth (June 19), Summer solstice (June 20) and my birthday (June 26), makes June a special month for me. God knew I was born to be a protesting, whimsy frolicking, Black mermaid with long boho braids. And while I am planning to have the best June ever, I’m not pleased with how I’m entering this blissful month.

“I think it’s spiritual”. This is what I told my friend yesterday, while explaining why I haven’t been able to focus for the last two years. I’m currently the heaviest I’ve ever been. Carrying this extra weight has affected just about everything. I spend most of my days feeling tired and sluggish. I recently resumed my spring/summer morning walks and noticed that my shins ache, as if I’d been running, and I get tired sooner than usual. This has spilled into my creative side, as well as my business. I find myself shying away from the camera, saying, "I'll take more photos when I lose weight.” Week after week, I say, “Find your rhythm, Nik”, but I’ve yet to actually nail down a legit schedule to write and create. It’s extremely disheartening, because I feel like no one can help me. Not even myself.

Last month I experienced an unusual amount of rejection, and to be honest, it bothered me a bit. However, time has proven that God sees all and hasn’t forgotten about me. I know he’s able to pick me up and set me on the right path. I’m encouraged by the scripture Psalm 121:1-2 that says, “I will lift up my eyes to the hills from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.” My eyes are lifted and, through faith, I believe my help is coming. 

The woman God created me to be lives within me, I just need to find her. 

Beginning June 1st (today), I’m committed to making choices that will bring me closer to being her. The way I eat and take care of my body will be for consideration of her health. The way I spend my time and money will be in preparation for her wealth. I’m looking for the woman I need to become ,and with God’s help, I’m bound to embrace her soon. 

June, what a beautiful time to come alive again. 

What are your wishes for June? Let me know below. I’m praying for us.

your favorite cousin, 

Nik

A few moments ago, I witnessed a son assist his middle aged mother to the car. Moments later, a woman happily squealed, while running out of the coffee shop to meet her approaching friend. I take note of these moments and characters. These are the normal moments that tell a beautiful story. They may show up in my writing one day. They may not. But, I take note of these beautiful human interactions.

“Nikki, where have you been?”

My writing is changing and I like it. I guess that’s why I haven’t been as consistent with this newsletter. I’ve been adjusting to this change of thinking/writing, while also figuring out how to pitch my play and maintain an online presence. I notice EVERYTHING. I see stories EVERYWHERE. This morning I shared a story on Instagram about witnessing my uncle slowly transition into an ancestor. You can read it here. This is the style and direction I’m leaning into. It’s different. It’s scary. It’s time.

we made an irresponsible decision

We bought tickets to see Denzel Washington on Broadway in Othello next month. I told my husband that it was okay if we weren't able to see him. It really was. I’d released it and made peace in my heart. However, my husband being the good man that he is, insisted that we go, because “Life is about making memories”. You’re absolutely right, Steve. Our friends are meeting us there and I’ve already informed them that I will cry as soon as we approach the theatre. Why? Because, it’s Denzel Washington and I’m dramatic. That’s why.

what’s next?

There’s an upcoming reading for my play, “The Last Senior Home in Bronzeville”, at the end of this month. This isn’t a public reading. We’ve been strategic about inviting theatre makers who have the resources and power to bring this production to a local stage. That’s the ultimate goal, cousins. In the meantime, I’m taking all of the steps necessary to bring these characters, and this world to life. Please whisper a prayer or two for me and this process.

what can we expect, moving forward?

I’m working on more long form stories and more raw, stripped down, authentic storytelling. I’m going back to posting once a week. I also want to try my hand at travel writing. I have an upcoming trip to the Igbo Landing on St. Simons Island, Georgia. Be sure to follow me on Instagram and TikTok for live updates.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

Since the last time we spoke I received a grant from the city of Chicago (DCASE) for my stage play, The Last Senior Home in Bronzeville. I found out a week before Christmas that we would be receiving the grant and spent winter break completing the play.

The play is a Drama/Comedy that takes place present day, on the South side of Chicago, at Daley’s Senior Home. The neighborhood that birthed Nat King Cole, Redd Foxx, Sam Cook, Quincy Jones and more finds itself being heavily gentrified, and its historical value diminishing fast. With Daley’s being the last senior home in the community, the residents find themselves at risk of being displaced, unless they all agree to fight back - senior citizen style.

We had two public readings. My family and friends came. My former acting professor from CoIumbia College, Lydia Diamond, was in attendance. Artistic directors and theatre makers who I have revered for years came out. I was in a state of pure bliss. I expected people to laugh during the play, but I honestly wasn’t prepared for people to shed tears. The feedback has been overwhelming and I’m honestly still processing it all. More performances have been requested and we are in conversation with one of the oldest and highly respected theatres in the city. I can’t believe my life. 

On one hand I feel like things are happening quickly and if I’m honest, I wouldn’t be upset if they moved a bit quicker. On the other hand, I know things aren’t moving as fast as they appear. This has been in the works for 20 years. 20 years of blindly chasing other career paths. 20 years of being distracted. 20 years of doubting myself. It actually saddens me when I think about how much time it took for me to come back to myself. However, God has proven faithful to restore the years I “thought” I lost. 

Aside from being immersed in the world of theater, I’ve found myself changing. A common theme I heard about turning 40, was the passion I’d suddenly have to advocate for myself more. I was told turning 40 would bring about a “take no prisoners” attitude and this is true. However, I’m pleasantly surprised to discover how turning 40 has softened my heart. I want to look people in the eyes more. I desire to listen, just for the sake of listening. In a room full of successful people, I’m no longer impressed with who’s the president of this company or how many followers one has. I want to know where you plan to take your children for summer vacation or your favorite thing about your mother. Those are the things that move me. My cousin Nia posted on Threads, “God is changing me”, and those are my exact sentiments. God is making me softer. Better. In the words of Bevvy Smith, “It gets greater, later”. 

I’m delighted to share this journey with you. I plan to meet you all here once a week (Mondays). Meanwhile, I dusted off my YouTube channel and even filmed my first #yappingsession Check it out here. The goal is to share my journey as daughter of God, wife, mama and playwright.

Lastly, if you’re in Chicago, I’d love for you to join me for a #PlayDate. On April 6th, 2025 we’re going to Definition Theatre for the matinee of “Splash Hatch On The E Going Down” at 3 p.m. Please use the code "FRIENDS30" for 30% off tickets. Grab your tickets here. Please let me know if you plan to come.

Thank you for being here. I hope to see you standing in the sun.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

Last week my family and I obnoxiously adorned ourselves in pink and green, and packed out three rows in the theater to see the film adaptation of Wicked, starring Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande. Confession: I’d never seen Wicked prior to this. Yes, it was in production in Chicago for years. And yes, I walked past hundreds of billboards and signs in Chicago’s theatre district, and wondered about the gripping image of a witch dressed in white whispering into the ears of a witch with green skin, but my strict Christian upbringing wouldn’t let me go beyond wondering. It wasn’t until recent years I learned that Wicked is the prequel to The Wizard of Oz, which I’ve yet to see, unless The Wiz counts. If it does, I’ve seen The Wiz plenty of times. However, the Wicked story and Elphaba’s character in particular is new to me, but served as fuel. As Elphaba flies above and away from people’s expectations of her, I empathize with her. I too, know what it’s like to be a woman intentionally choosing to defy gravity. Especially now that I’m in my 40’s. 

I turned 40-years-old in June. I wish I didn’t have to be dramatic and say that everything is changing, but my dear cousins, everything actually is… changing. Last week I was honored by Hustle Mommies, along with 99 other moms in Chicago. I walked into the DuSable Museum alone while my husband parked the car. I stepped into the V.I.P. section rocking a candy green dress, white boots, and deep plum lipstick. I felt good about how I looked and when I casually walked up to a table to greet a few familiar faces, I realized I was different. The girl who constantly had anxious thoughts of randomly tripping while walking or struggled with being rejected was nowhere to be found. Instead, a confident woman showed up. I don’t know where she came from, but she showed up just for me and she just happens to be...me. That’s different. My thoughts are changing. I’m more careful of what I say, instead of recklessly blurting out the first thought that comes to mind. The way I perceive myself is changing. The way I approach business is changing. No more hoping and wishing for success. It’s all about intentional growth these days. It’s all changing, but in the midst of the shift, one thing remains: my intentional, bold choice to defy gravity. As much as I’m thriving in the wisdom that comes with your 40’s, I’d be remiss if I don’t share the struggles.

The 40’s are where you’re expected to have life somewhat figured out. That comes along with owning a home, a few cars, and maybe having a few children. You should be well along in your career with a growing 401k as proof. The hustle isn’t as intense anymore, because you conquered it in your 20’s. You should be able to coast in your 40’s, while beginning to anticipate retirement. 

And then there’s me. Defying gravity. I could say 40 is where it all began for me, but that isn’t entirely true. 40 is where it began and continued. I didn’t arrive at 40, but my God I have arrived. While society expects me to be in the thick of my career, I’m just getting started. I still believe and I’m working like it. I’m still planting seeds and I anticipate a beautiful harvest. You won’t find me on anyone’s “40 Under 40’s” list, but I lead the pack for the “40 over 40’s” list of folks who found their footing “later” in life. We are living boldly and courageously, unbound by traditional age norms and I love that for us. 

For the ones having babies for the first time in their 40’s. May we continue to defy gravity.

For the ones buying their first home in their 40’s. May we continue to defy gravity.

For the ones starting a business in their 40’s. May we continue to defy gravity. 

For the ones finding true love in their 40’s. May we continue to defy gravity. 

For the ones who are flying above society’s expectations and doing it their way. May we continue to defy gravity.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

I know this pain too well. 

On September 21, 2011, another dear cousin suddenly passed away as well. Her name was Toya, and although she was my cousin (My grandmother and her mother are twins), we were nine years apart and grew up like sisters. Toya and I were roommates at the time of her death and I took it hard. The rest of 2011 was a blur, with the exception of me traveling to New York City in October and Thanksgiving. 

It was the first holiday after Toya passed. I can’t remember who hosted Thanksgiving that year. It may have been my cousin Tessa - Toya’s sister. We seemed to be doing fine as one by one, family members made their way into the house. But things took a shift once it was time to eat. My cousin Ara stood up and began to give a toast. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but when he mentioned Toya’s name I felt a lump rise in the back of my throat. Tessa ran out of the room to the bathroom and I followed her. We cried in the bathroom as a heavy cloud of grief hovered over us. This was our new reality for the holidays. 

I couldn't fathom how my amusing cousin who lit up every room she entered could be deceased. Death and Toya, was like oil and water. In my head it didn't go together and I was having a difficult time accepting what naturally didn’t mix. The cousin who made family games more fun, wouldn’t be there to talk smack during Spades or Spoons. The cousin who knew all of the words to all the new songs, including the dances to go along, was gone. The favorite cousin. What’s a holiday without the favorite cousin?

Years later I was married and had given birth to a baby girl. I still desperately missed my cousin, but I was focused on creating new holiday traditions with my family. It was Christmas Day, and my husband and I were driving to his grandmother’s home. As we pulled up, a wave of sadness came over me and tears began to fall from my eyes. As I searched through my feelings, I explained to my husband how his family structure highlighted how broken, but blended, my family structure is. My husband’s grandparents have been married for over 70 years. His parents have been married for 45 years. Holidays are a bit more simplified when your parents are still together. My parents divorced when I was 7-years-old. I never knew my maternal grandfather and my paternal grandfather passed away when I was 12. Holidays are a bit more intense when your parents are divorced. Do I spend Thanksgiving with my mom and Christmas with my dad? Do I spend half in the suburbs with my mom and interrupt my holiday by driving 30 minutes to spend half in the city with my dad? Having a child made it more difficult, because grandparents don’t play about seeing their grandbabies on the holidays. I love my broken/blended family, but sometimes the holidays cause me to grieve what could have been. 

The holidays are my favorite time of the year. I listen to Christmas music all year round. My daughter and I started watching Christmas movies in October. Our Christmas tree goes up BEFORE Thanksgiving. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. But the holidays can also be reminders of the loved ones we’ve lost and the life we dreamed of having. 

There’s no perfect way to end this. However, if you find yourself in this sad, yet jolly space, you’re not alone. 

We can be grateful AND grieving. Jolly and sad. It’s the most wonderful time of the year, but give us a second. 

As we untangle the Christmas lights, I pray we’re able to untangle the many emotions the Holidays bring. And when we delicately place the star on top of the tree, I pray we look to the true light of the Christmas season to restore our hope. Isaiah 9:6.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had a job. I was 14-years-old when I got my work permit, in order for me to work at Macino’s Pizza and Grinders. After working at Mancino’s, I worked at KB Toys, Walgreens, Victoria’s Secret, and Apple Bee’s. I was still in highschool. I didn’t have any extracurricular activities after school and now that I think about it, joining the theatre club or speech team would have been ideal for me. But instead, I went to work. This trend carried over into my college career. I worked a few work study jobs in between attending classes. After graduation, I went down to Jackson, Mississippi, to intern at the John and Vera Mae Perkins Center for one year. After my internship was complete, I came back home to Chicago and accepted a job with By the Hand Club for Kids, kicking off my “grown up” work career. 

Young adults choose to backpack through Europe for a variety of reasons that I completely understand. I want to be clear - I take no issue with them backpacking through Europe. My heart simply breaks for the Black women who weren’t afforded an opportunity to simply frolic. Oh, the wondrous things that could’ve occurred to me if I had a year to “eat, pray, love”. I'd have clarity to choose a career path in my early 20’s, instead of trying to figure it out in my 30’s and finally having the courage to land on a choice at 40. The delicacies I would have tried, the enlightening conversations with strangers I could have had, and the remarkable sites I could've seen. 

This is for Black girls who couldn’t afford to backpack through Europe and find themselves needing a second, a minute, a moment to just breathe. 

For Black girls who had to choose priorities over pleasantries. 

For Black girls who are now moms and find themselves chasing babies while chasing dreams. 

For Black girls who weren't given grace to figure it out in their 20’s or 30’s. 

For Black girls who are creating to survive, without the choice of creating, to simply create.

I write for us. 

I pray we find pure delight and unexpected adventure in our daily rhythms.  

I pray we find sacred time to think and pursue the dreams that make our heart thunder and spirit dance.

May God restore to us what time has taken.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

My first plane ride was to sunny Los Angeles, California. It was the summer of 98’. I had recently graduated from 8th grade and celebrated my 14th birthday. The ticket to California from Chicago was a graduation present from my father. I boarded a Frontier plane with an older cousin, her husband and children. My cousins the same age as myself had flown out a few days before us and were frantically awaiting my arrival. I had no idea what to expect in Cali, but I didn’t expect to become enchanted with the golden state.

even the hood is pretty.

I wasn’t prepared for the intoxicating beauty of California. These Chicago eyes saw palm trees and mountains for the first time. From Beverly Hills to Compton, I saw multiple worlds based in one city, and it was all beautiful. Even the hood was pretty, because how could it not be with palm trees and sunny skies? I fell in love and a few days before it was time to fly home I called my mother and asked if I could stay and live in California with my aunt and cousin. I told her I had $200 spending money left to sustain me. She told me to get my butt on the plane when it was time and come home. Against my will, I returned home to Chicago, but I would never forget the way California made me feel. 

ATL, shawty

I wanted to live in Cali, until I visited Atlanta. My mom and I had taken a trip there in anticipation of me going to Clark Atlanta University after being accepted. The AUC (Atlanta University Center) was like something out of a movie. Black excellence everywhere you looked. The entire city felt like an episode of ‘A Different World’, and I knew I’d perfectly fit in. But when it was time to pay my registration fee, my family didn’t have the $600 and my CAU/ATL dream was cut short. 

over there > here

I believe people should be exposed to different cities, cultures, and ways of life, as much as possible - especially children. There’s a big world out there and God forbid I never get the chance to frolic through lavender fields in France. Or sail the Amalfi Coast. Or dance on the beach in Ghana at 4 a.m. However, if I’m not careful, I can constantly be in a state of wanting to be “over there”, instead of “being here”. 

be here now

I’m at the age where I can now move freely throughout the country. We can move to California and especially Atlanta (some of my family, including my mother, relocated to the ATL area last year) if we wanted to. It would take hard work to uproot our lives, but we could do it. However, I’m also at the age where I realize years of wanting to be “over there”, has snatched away my ability to see the blessing in being “here”. “Here” is not only referring to the city I live in. It also encompasses the job I work, the church I attend and this season of my life. Maybe being “here” is right where I belong.

God knows where I’m supposed to be and just maybe he’s had me right where I belong.

Your Favorite Cousin, 

Nik

These were words spoken by my mother after I asked her for money to purchase a baby blue pair of Timberlands that were all the rage in 1999. I was 15-years-old and my small check from Mancino’s Pizza & Grinders wouldn’t cut it. My mother didn’t have the money, but encouraged me to ask my dad, which wasn’t easy for me. 

My parents divorced when I was 7-years-old and afterwards I lived with my mother. From being newly single to remarrying, I always lived with her, with the exception of one summer I spent with my father, stepmother and stepsister. Living with one parent versus visiting the other on weekends and holidays, made me more comfortable with my mother. My mother saw the “everyday Nik”. She saw ‘Puberty Nik’, ‘had a bad day at school’ Nik, the goofy and overly dramatic Nik - no matter what, my mother saw it all, while a more “polished” Nikki was reserved for my father. This Nikki was on the honor roll. She worked and saved her money, and she most definitely didn’t ask her father for anything without first experiencing a ton of anxiety. My father always gave me everything I asked of him, from flights to California to the baby blue Timberland boots, so I had no real reason to be afraid of asking him for things. In retrospect, I’m beginning to realize I was raised not to be an inconvenience, which I’m also realizing has become quite the… inconvenience. 

As soon as I could obtain my driver’s permit at the age of 15, I had it. I can say the same thing about my driver’s license. I think I actually got my license on my 16th birthday. From Mancino’s Pizza to Walgreens, to Victoria’s Secret to Marshall Field’s, I kept a little job with some money in my pocket and had a used car. My mother and I prided ourselves on me being independent. When it was time for me to go to college I moved out of my mother’s home to live on campus and never looked back, with the exception of spending a few summer’s at my mother’s house. Little Miss Independent had a job, car, and rented a spacious home in the burbs. I came and went as I pleased, occasionally asking my parents for help with “big” purchases or getting out of a few financial pickles. That was as far as it went. But I recently blinked and turned 40-years-old, and am beginning to realize being independent can only take you so far.

A few years ago I wrote an op-ed piece for Parents Magazine, questioning if Black families still live in multigenerational households? I asked, because after giving birth to India, I realized the stark difference in how she was being raised versus my upbringing. While the three of us live in a 3 bedroom/ 2 bathroom apartment in Bronzeville, I have memories of living with my grandmother, aunts and cousins. Oh, the inconvenience of six people sharing one bathroom, while experiencing the beautiful convenience of community. 

I try my best not to ask anyone for anything, unless I really need it. I never want to be an inconvenience. However, my community feels safe asking me for favors, big and small, and I enjoy it. I love coming through for my family when I can. Coming through and giving is my favorite love language. 

“Nikki, just ask your dad for the shoes. He probably wants you to ask.”

Maybe my mama was on to something.

My desire to not want to inconvenience people has inconvenienced me, way too much, and snatched away opportunities to build community and create priceless memories. 

Our friends recently got married and during the reception, my husband and a few brothers shared stories about the groom. Most stories had a common theme of the groom taking them somewhere they didn’t want to be and keeping them longer than they anticipated on staying. Sounds like a huge inconvenience, right? But as they laughed through the stories, they made it clear the groom would do the same for each of them.

Beautifully inconvenienced. 

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

p.s. Can I inconvenience you and ask you to consider becoming a paid subscriber for $10/month? xoxo

When the opportunity came for me to interview John David Washington and Malcolm Washington at the Chicago International Film Fest premiere of The Piano Lesson, I knew I HAD to show John David the magazines and ask him to sign his cover.

Y’all, it went better than I anticipated. The Washington brothers are incredibly kind and extremely down to earth. Remember I wrote Flowers for Pauletta Washington after meeting her at the closing of The Piano Lesson on Broadway? Well, their eyes lit up when I mentioned their mom. Malcolm even said he’s going to tell his mom about me (Hey, Miss Paula!). It was indeed a night I’ll never forget!

Malcolm David directed The Piano Lesson and John David Washington plays the role of Boy Willie. Click here for my interview with the Washington brothers and be sure to check out The Piano Lesson on Netflix, November 9th.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

Not only do I like pretty things, I like to think pretty thoughts. 

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”

Philippians 4:8

And so that’s exactly what I do. I think about what my family’s life will look like when we’re able to fully thrive in our gifts. I daydream of my plays and myself being on Broadway *wink* I anticipate fruitful friendships with kind hearts. Like the influencers on social media who seem to have it all figured out, I wait for my pretty piece of the pie.

But, I’m reminded that sometimes pretty can be boring and no matter how much I’d love to permanently write pretty posts, my life isn’t pretty. As a writer, it’s my job to *carefully and prayerfully* share my thoughts and experiences. Lately I’ve been bored with my writing and couldn't figure out why. It finally dawned on me that I was skirting around the REAL topics that currently live front and center in my mind and heart: My estranged relationship with my mothers two sisters. My unique family position of being my parents' only child together, but having MULTIPLE siblings. Grief after losing people who you know without a shadow of doubt genuinely loved you. Fear of the unknown. Raising a child in today’s wicked world and unsafe economy, yet wanting more children to raise in said world. Remembering how hard it was for you to have the first child. Attempting to be a successful 40-year-old playwright and dare I say, Broadway actor? These are my confessions. These are my stories and I know I’m not alone. 

I used to be an avid reader. I still read, but thanks to my child, I’ve become an avid book collector and “read when I can” type reader. However, when I do sit and carve out precious time to read, the stories that keep me engaged are the ones most rugged, real and raw. The golden joy. The indigo pain. The gut-wrenching heartbreaks. The unspeakable joy. The deep falls. The historic comebacks. These are the stories that remind me that I’m alive, and once again, not alone. These are the stories people want to read and the stories I’m going to write.

Sci-fi writer, Octavia Butler, said, “Tell stories filled with facts. Make people touch and taste and know. Make people feel! Feel! Feel!” 

Moving forward you will see this newsletter shift a bit. More storytelling. More truth. More. 

I appreciate our community and I’m so grateful you all are here.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

The 2024 film version of August Wilson’s ‘Piano Lesson’ is set to release on Netflix, November 8, 2024, and I can’t wait! The film stars Samuel L. Jackson, John David Washington, Danielle Deadwyler, Corey Hawkins and more. While to some this may be an introduction to Wilson’s beloved stage play, others are familiar with the many stages this production has taken on. 

The Piano Lesson premiered on November 29, 1987 at Yale Repertory Theatre, in New Haven, CT. The cast included Carl Gordon, Samuel L. Jackson, Rocky Carrol, Starletta DuPois, Tommy Hollis and more. Samuel L. Jackson originated the role of Boy Willie, but sadly didn’t return after the run at Yale Repertory, being replaced by Charles Dutton. The production would go on to run at The Huntington Theatre Company (Boston, MA), Goodman Theatre (Chicago, IL.), and The John F. Kennedy Center (Washington, DC). On April 16, 1990, The Piano Lesson opened on Broadway at Walter Kerr Theatre (New York, NY). 

The play was adapted into a film, which aired on CBS on February 5, 1995. Samuel Jackson was not a part of this cast as well. 

In a 2022 interview Jackson said, "I had the opportunity to create Boy Willie at Yale and became very attached to it, probably a little too much. So by the time the play traveled and came back to Broadway, and I was an understudy, I was pretty much devastated that I wasn't going to make my Broadway debut, drowning myself in a drug-fueled kind of craziness and ended up in rehab, which, you know, started a whole other journey for me."

But here is where the true definition of “delayed doesn’t mean denied” comes into play. In 2022, 35 years later from his role in the 1987 production of ‘The Piano Lesson’, Jackson joined the cast of ‘The Piano Lesson’ for the revival on Broadway at Barrymore Theatre. This time he wasn’t joining in the role of young Boy Willie. Jackson played the role of Doaker, the patriarch of the Charles family. As if things couldn’t get sweeter, Jackson’s wife LaTanya Richardson Jackson, joined on board as director. 

Jackson may have thought his relationship with The Piano Lesson came to an end in 1987. But God spinned the block and he was finally able to join The Piano Lesson on Broadway.

I was blessed to attend the closing of The Piano Lesson on January 29, 2023. There was an impromptu standing ovation for Glynn Turman when the audience spotted him in the crowd. Kandi Burrus, the producer of the play, walked in with a few Housewives of Atlanta. Denzel and Pauletta Washington were 4 seats away from us. It was bananas. I had the opportunity to meet and take photos with a few of these artists. Check out the post here. 

And here we are on the brink of the 2024 film adaptation of The Piano Lesson set to release on Netflix, November 8, 2024. 

The Washington Family have their hands all over this film and rightfully so. Years ago, Denzel Washington vowed to create all of Wilson's plays into films and produced the upcoming film. His son, Malcolm Washington, wrote the screenplay and directed the film. Washington’s other son, John David, stars in the film in the role of Boy Willie. It’s a beautiful sight to behold.

The Piano Lesson is the gift that keeps giving, providing Black artists with grand opportunities on the stage and in film since 1987. Shout out to August Wilson. Do you plan to watch The Piano Lesson? Let me know below.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

October briskly came in with sweet promises of all things pumpkin, new goals, and a somewhat slower pace. While scrolling on Instagram this morning I saw my favorite influencers, one by one, post their Fall outfits, October goals, and freshly baked content. It’s a new season, indeed. You can feel it in the air. 

I can also feel it in all the newness turning 40 has brought along. My Chart reminded me it’s time for my mammogram and I keep forgetting to reschedule my eye appointment with LensCrafters - no matter how many times they remind me. I vowed to not spend a dime on frivolous purchases this month (I’m so sorry Sephora). However, I did splurge on a new half gallon Stainless steel water bottle and echinacea vitamins with goldenseal. This is 40.

At the end of August I traveled to Pittsburgh to do research for the August Wilson Society. I arrived a day early in order to pray. While in the hotel room I asked the Lord to change me. I refused to return back to Chicago the same woman I’d been. I can’t pinpoint what happened or when it happened, but somewhere along the road, my faith shrinked. I believed, but just like Jesus, I had unbelief. God was incredibly kind to answer my prayer. I feel myself evolving. I have laser focus. I’ve mapped out where I’m going and I’m ready to do the work to get there. These days it’s all about being a loving and supportive spouse, a present mom, the favorite cousin, and a thriving creative entrepreneur. I’m ready to embrace the path God has set before me. 

I lived at the theatre in September, and October will be no different. Black Theatre Chicago shared the productions that’s opening this month and I can’t wait to see these shows. Oh, we have a code for Milo Imagines the World at Chicago Children’s Theatre. It’s buy one get one free for any Saturday show at 9:30 a.m. The code is MILOBTC. I’m especially excited to check out Ngozi Anyanwu’s “Leroy & Lucy” at Steppenwolf this month. I’ve been following Ngozi’s career for a few years now and have been inspired by her. 

Cousin! How are you? I turned in my research earlier today, which means, moving forward I’ll be posting here twice a week. I love our community and what we’re building. Thanks for joining me for this beautiful ride.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

p.s. Will you consider becoming a paid patron for $10/month? It will help me reach goals for more readings and events next year.

p.p.s. I recently tried press ons and I’m excited to announce that I will never go back to the shop for a $60 no chip manicure again! My press ons lasted about 12 days and were so pretty. I’m excited for the set I plan to glue on tomorrow. Ain’t nobody told me nothing!

August Wilson’s childhood home in Pittsburgh, PA. A portrait of his mother, Daisy Wilson, and a young August hangs in their former home.

Last week I had the golden opportunity of visiting the August Wilson archives at the University of Pittsburgh. Over the summer I was chosen by the August Wilson Society as a researcher/writer for the upcoming book, “Centering and Celebrating Wilsonian Warriors”. Any actor who has ever performed in an August Wilson stage play or film is considered to be a “Wilsonian Warrior”. This impressive list includes Viola Davis, Charles Dutton, S. Epatha Merkerson, Phylicia Rashad and more. The WW I was given to research is Broadway actor, Tommy Hollis. 

I saw many things in the archives that made my heart explode with joy. Can you imagine the deep breaths I inhaled when I came across Wilson’s hand written thoughts on notepads or on random scraps of paper, or playbills? I saw the Guest of Honor Pulitzer Prize for Drama ribbon he wore in 1988. I felt like an intruder studying casting notes on why certain actors were or were not chosen and the phone numbers of cast members. The many letters people had written Wilson on custom stationery prompted me to make a mental note to order a set of my own. And my favorite of all, was seeing the relationship Wilson had with Chicago theatres. King Hedley premiered at Goodman Theatre in 2000 and was adamant about having Wilson, along with his director of choice Lloyd Richards, attend events at the DuSable Museum to connect with the Black audience. Congo Square Theatre was in contact with Wilson and now I know why they are adamant about honoring Wilson’s legacy. It’s truly amazing. While digging through the sacred letters and precious artifacts, the undercurrent thought I kept having was, “How did Constanza Romero (Wilson’s widow) know the value of these archives? What made her keep them and ultimately decide to let the University of Pittsburgh house them?”, which leads to my real question: What are your archives? I’m not referring to the items you’ll leave behind. I’m talking about the things you may have forgotten that make your heart fly.  

Last year my great aunt, who is also my grandmother’s twin, gave me a bag of vintage newspapers. One is a Chicago Defender from January 1988. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is on the cover and the entire paper was dedicated to him. My office contains newspapers from President Obama’s historical presidency, vintage EBONY and JET magazines, and classic vinyl records. Spike Lee recently had an exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum that featured more than 450 objects from his personal collection. They feature a flag for the African National Congress that is signed by Nelson and Winnie Mandela, a guitar that once belonged to Prince, Lee’s personal papers, photos and more artifacts. If I’m smart, I will start working on a future exhibit from my personal collection as well. But, what I realized while digging through the archives of August Wilson is, it was awakening the archives in me.

I posted a story on Instagram of me touching the actual desk of August Wilson and a friend commented, “That is authentic joy right there.” Another friend said, “You’re glowing in purpose, Nikki.” I’m committing to seek out more moments that bring out the archival bliss in me. Moments that take my breath away. No more bare minimum. I’m ready to go deep. The archives of Nikki consist of exploring, history, culture, theatre, makeup, fulfilling conversations, editorial style photos and so much more. Take me back and forward at the same time. 

What are the archives of you?

This morning I woke up, got myself and my kid dressed, we dropped her off at school, and then my husband dropped me off at Midway Airport (Chicago). I flew into Pittsburgh this afternoon for a special project that I absolutely can’t wait to share with you all.

I arrived at the airport around 8:50 a.m., but my flight wasn’t until 11:40 a.m. I had time to spare. While walking to my gate with a breakfast sandwich and iced coffee, I heard a man’s voice over the intercom saying the following:

“There will be a worship service in 30 minutes at Concourse C. A Christian worship service in 30 minutes at the chapel in Concourse C. All are welcome.”

I immediately called my husband and said, “Babe, they have a chapel here at the airport. Wouldn’t it be dope if you and your band performed here?!”. He agreed and asked if I could get their contact information, to which I replied, “Well, I'm not sure if I’m going to go. It’s in Concourse C and I’m already in Concourse B.” Y’all, I had my lil’ breakfast sammich, coffee, and fully charged devices. I was ready to sit down and get comfy, until my husband said, “Maybe this is why you’re there early. Maybe God wants you to experience the service.” He was right. 

I scarfed down my turkey sandwich and hiked to Concourse C, which actually wasn’t too far away. I took the elevator up to the chapel and was pleasantly surprised to see more people sitting and waiting for the service to begin. The chaplain came out and introduced himself as Pastor Dave from Moody Church. The service began with a song and then Pastor Dave opened the floor for us to share praises and prayer requests. 

I shared that I was traveling to Pittsburgh for a major opportunity, to which this group of strangers who are my brothers and sisters in Christ, began to celebrate. 

We then went on to share our prayer requests. One by one, people shared what was weighing us down. 

“Health.”

“Pray for my friend who has brain cancer and two children.”

“Pray for 6-year-old Judah who is losing his eyesight.”

“Pray for my tenants. I see how they are no longer able to afford rent due to inflation. It breaks my heart.”

As Pastor Dave prayed, tears fell from my eyes. Here we were, Black & White, young & old, woman & man, united by our faith in the middle of an airport. Some were flying home. Others were leaving home. But we all had one thing in common: Christ. 

The sermon was quick and to the point, and exactly what I needed. Here are a few takeaways:

• What do you understand about anything? This hit home, because my anxiety is constantly feeding me all the wretched things that could happen in my life. But that’s MY understanding. Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on YOUR own understanding. Proverbs 3:5.

• Our thoughts should be “Father filtered”.

• The Lord is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him. (Hebrews 11:6) Key word: Diligently. 

And my favorite point of them all (Pastor Dave ended his final prayer with this):

• Trust God exclusively, entirely and exhaustively.

Afterwards, a few people wished me blessings on my writing endeavors before heading to their flights and I was given a book for India (pictured above). While walking back to Concourse B I felt… lighter. A huge burden had been lifted from me. I was reminded of the God I serve, his love for his children, and his ultimate power - inside of the airport! 

Why didn’t y’all tell me it was a chapel at Midway? Ain’t nobody told me nothing! I will definitely go again if my schedule permits and we plan to inquire about Just Steve ministering there sometime soon.

In the meantime, I’m praying for us, cousins. May we experience God in the least expected places. 

P.S. Tomorrow is major! Follow me on IG for all the behind the scenes on why I’m in Pittsburgh.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

“And these are the moments
I thank God that I'm alive
And these are the moments
I'll remember all my life
I found all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more”

This is the song of my heart. Last week was a movie beautifully wrapped in an answered prayer. Let me explain.

Monday - My first stage play, Emmett’s Photo, was a sold out success. You had to be there to hear the full testimony on how God literally gave me what I prayed for to make this production a success. Your girl is a full playwright. I said it before and I’ll say it again - I’ve NEVER been more fulfilled in my life, than I am now. I’ve started writing a new play and was recently selected as a writer/researcher for the August Wilson Society. I’ll share more about what that entails next week.

Friday - My husband, Just Steve, invited India (our daughter) and I to be in a music video for his upcoming project that is set to release on October 3rd. It felt so good to be able to create with my family. My husband is lyrically talented and my daughter is a natural actor. I kept calling her Rudy Huxtable! I can’t wait to share the video with you all this autumn.

As I reflect on last week, I see nothing but answered prayers. When preparation meets opportunity AND your season. It’s been a long time coming. So many disappointments. So many deflated dreams. So much sacrifice, but this… this feels different.

And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not. Galatians 6:9.

Your Favorite Cousin,

P.S. I’m gearing up to share more content on here. I can’t wait!!!

“Mommy I dare you to dive into the pool.”

My six-year-old isn’t actually asking me to dive into the pool. She keeps confusing diving with simply going under water while in the pool. But I know what she’s saying, so I respond, “Let’s do it!”. And just like that, my daughter and I, enjoy a sweltering hot day of “diving” in the pool at the Aloft Hotel. 

I love being near water. Years ago I began to dramatically refer to myself as a “woman of the water”. Looking at water, being near it, or immersing myself in it brings me peace. It soothes my anxiety and in those moments I’m a child again. 

To celebrate India turning 7 months old I took her to the beach, made a number 7 out of pebbles & seashells, and dipped her little toesies into Lake Michigan for the first time. She, just like her mother, became a “woman of the water” after that moment and doesn’t miss an opportunity to ask if we can go to the beach or “hotels”.

While playing “The Little Mermaid” in the pool with my daughter who graciously made me be Ursula, it dawned on me that I am passing down my love of water on to her. And I began to wonder if generational wealth can be more than historic greystones, heirlooms, and capital. 

I don’t come from traditional wealth. There wasn’t an investment account waiting for me on my 21st birthday. My parents are hard workers who made the best of what they had. They didn’t give me generational wealth, however, they gave me other things that equate to wealth in my book.

I wasn’t a theater kid in school. My first introduction to the theater was seeing my father on stage at the historic eta theatre, on the South side of Chicago. My father worked with the greats such as Okoro Harold Johnson, Chuck Smith and Runako Jahi. I’m just now realizing the weight of that. By exposing me to the world of theater, my father gave me “generational theatre wealth” and now I am finding my voice as a playwright. I must add that my daughter India is showing signs of being a theatre kid. This is the gift that keeps giving. 

Growing up my mother was my personal Tina Knowles (Beyonce & Solange’s mother). My mother made my prom dress, styled my hair, and had our home looking like a page out of an interior design magazine. It’s safe to say my mother was the first creative I knew, exposing me to decoupage, costume jewelry and makeup. When India asks if she can cut her dolls hair or the sleeves off of her dresses, I comply and refer to her as “Little Tanya”, (my mother’s name), because she got it honestly. My creativity is escorting me into rooms I never thought I’d be in. 

Generational wealth in the form of money is important and should be passed down if possible. It’s biblical (Proverbs 13:22). However, I don’t want to be blind to the other avenues of wealth that have been graciously passed down to me. 

What wealth has been given to you? What are you giving to your children?

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nikki

Cousins, it’s finally here. My short play, Emmett’s Photo, will be in production for one day and I’d LOVE for you to join us.

Emmett’s Photo is a gripping and evocative reimagining of the critical moments leading up to John H. Johnson’s historic decision to publish a photo of Emmett Till, the slain teen whose death galvanized the Civil Rights Movement. Set in 1955, within the bustling office of the Negro Digest Publishing Company, this play delves into the intense and emotional deliberations that unfolded behind closed doors.

John H. Johnson, a trailblazing Black publisher with four successful publications, faces an extraordinary challenge when Mamie Till Bradley, Emmett’s mother, pleads with him to publish a heart-wrenching and gruesome photo of her murdered son in JET magazine. What starts as a routine day in the office swiftly transforms into a pivotal moment that could alter the course of history.

This is a short play followed by a panel discussion.

Starring: Shariba Rivers, Demetra Dee, Jelani Julyus, Frederick Paul Williams and James Lewis.

Directed by Quenna Lene.

I’m grateful to God for opening this door for "Emmett’s Photo. I hope to see my Chicago cousins in the building. Get your tickets here.

Your Favorite Cousin,

Nik