The refreshing flavors of Hendrick's and Fever-Tree hit my palate, a gentle reminder that in my thirties, I’d acquired a taste for quality. It was Labor Day weekend, and while the calendar insisted we had three weeks of summer left, I couldn’t escape the bittersweet realization that another season was winding down. Across from me sat my dear friend, Nicole, and another mom from the gathering, who’d just finished her analysis of Arts & Letters, a highly rated public school that believed “in the importance of student voice, compassion & curiosity, equity, inclusion and anti-racism.” This meant it was better than the other lauded public schools in the borough. The two Brooklyn moms engaged in a spirited conversation about the challenges of grade school enrollment and friendship between their sons, both under six years old.
I’m not a mother yet, but I want to be one day. “Here’s what you’ve got to look forward to,” Nicole said to me with a matter-of-fact chuckle and raised eyebrows. The mothers exchanged words like “progressive” and “multicultural” that created a maze I didn’t know how to navigate. Would my future be defined by school districts and words that seemed both foreign and vital? My gaze fell upon the word “NOW” tattooed in all caps inside of my left forearm. It had become a daily affirmation, a reminder to be here, in the present moment. Part of me thought I would have cashed in on a variation of my MASH prediction: a mansion, Mercedes, and twins. My best friends, college roommates and younger sister, manage motherhood and mortgages. My peers in the NYC creative class are joining the fold too. I’ve frozen my eggs, and pay for the annual storage. I manage my time as I please, and yet, I grapple with a sense of exclusion and anxiety. Rather than push those feelings down, I invite them in and explore. For the first time in what felt like years, I was okay with curiosity as a companion.
At thirty-three years old, I feel more grown than ever. I say “no, thank you,” without a lofty explanation that my younger self felt obligated to share. My credit age is eleven and a half years, and my bills are on auto-pay. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see the unmistakable reflection of my father, Lowell, a reminder of Hillocks genes that bind us, regardless of our relationship. I’ve gone from one to five gray hairs. I’ve lived in New York City, a little over a thousand miles away from my immediate family, for over a decade.
As I navigate this ever-evolving landscape of adulthood, I've come to realize that it's about growing wiser, more adaptable, and more comfortable with the complexities of who I am versus who I once was. I was fresh out of undergrad and there was tension at home in Florida. I felt confined by my grandma’s constant inquiries of my whereabouts and her inability to respect my perspective. A disagreement with my mom resulted in a brief estrangement. My small town’s charm turned to nuisance. My fatigue accelerated the search for my golden ticket. Just a month and a half after graduation, I secured a paid internship and bought a one-way flight to New York City. I had an intuitive conviction and resentful spirit. My thirst for connection was quenched temporarily by whirls of interesting people and men who I loved deeply, but drowned me in disappointment. I tethered to the connection in NYC, believing that being here was the only key to affirmation, employment, and value. Over the years, cold emails and coffee with acquaintances have evolved to voice notes and thoughtful time spent with friends and chosen family. Now, I place reciprocity, routine, and restoration at the forefront. Not everything or everyone deserves my energy.
At thirty-three, I can't help but think about the paths of my mom, Priscilla, and grandma, Rita at this age. By their early thirties, both were knee-deep in the responsibilities of motherhood, their husbands, young children, and the pursuit of creating stable homes. Their big dreams of further education, travel, and aspirations for a certain kind of romantic love, were relegated to the background, silenced by the demands of their daily lives.
In my own journey, I find myself on a different path. I'm in a relationship, but I'm not married. I'm self-employed, intentionally choosing with whom I collaborate. My daily routine is a perfect verse over a tight beat: a glass of water upon rising and a moment of gratitude. I make my bed and refresh my altar, take my vitamins, and commit to skincare, and no work calls before 10 AM. I can say yes to a last-minute dinner invite or take myself on a solo date. Pants at home are optional. My showers can be as long as I desire. I created these rituals during the pandemic, in the solitude of my apartment, #SugarHillocks. Now, they serve as the anchors that keep me grounded and self-sustained.
My circle of friends in their thirties and forties are a diverse tapestry of experiences. Among us, there's the fearless entrepreneur, confidently raising capital to build empires. Then, there's the cool mom, navigating the joys and challenges of motherhood with grace. Some are child-free by choice, embracing the freedom to craft their lives as they see fit. All of these archetypes, expansive in her unique life journey, charting her course with intention and purpose. And while I’ve cultivated an amazing circle of girlfriends, I’ve had to leave others behind.
Just last week, I moderated a panel for my friend and author, Klancy Miller, celebrating her latest book, For the Culture: Phenomenal Black Women and Femmes in Food: Interviews, Inspiration, and Recipes. Through my questions, I rooted in the ambitions and insights of my fellow panelists, Kia Damon and Kelly Mitchell, two women I’ve witnessed expand in their contributions to the food and wine industries respectively. The audience was filled with my homies and peers. Following the panel, we gathered around a table, classic cocktails in hand and an array of dishes before us, a symphonic convergence of life experiences. Support is unearthed in these moments. I love being in romantic partnership, but I must acknowledge that my sisters, Black women, ground me like no other. Their camaraderie holds me down.
Through block parties in Bed-Stuy and heartbreak in Harlem, I've discovered the beauty of curiosity and the power of presence. I’m an auntie to Raiden, a beautiful, bright, loving little boy who serves as a reminder to embrace the small wonders of the world. I make a conscious effort to self-regulate before unloading reactions on my partner or family members. These relationships have deepened over the years and outside of my beloved New York City, to places like Vermont, Mexico City, and my hometown of Apopka. You can always go back, girl!
In negotiation, we learn to set our own pace. In this decade, I’m crafting the terms of my evolving identity. For me, this is the essence of being a thirty-something, and baby, the best is yet to come.
Edited by Osayi Endolyn
Eat, Pray, Love
In each issue, I wrap up with recommendations that make my life more delicious, grounded, and fun. Discover your next dining destination or dose of inspiration.
I’m in a book—I had the pleasure of moderating a panel for For the Culture: Phenomenal Black Women and Femmes in Food: Interviews, Inspiration, and Recipes this month. The cherry on top is that I’m in its pages, and among 65 other remarkable food & beverage professionals. Grab a copy from your favorite Indie bookstore; I recommend BEM | books & more.
Back to School—Tis the season for learning and I’ve taken a seat at Pratt to delve into the art of perfume. I’ve got one class down, and I've already gained fresh vocabulary and dispelled fragrance myths. Intrigued? You can check out Pratt’s additional continued education offerings, or seek out specialized schools in your area.
Babel Loft—is the first Black women-owned members hub and tasting room in Brooklyn, and one of my clients. They’re set to officially open the doors to members in October, and are accepting applications at the founders member rate through October 31. Check out the details here.
Take care, dear ones.
xx,
Your class sounds interesting. You might be interested in this podcast https://smellyalater.live/. I saw them at a live event early this year.