I was 7 years old when I fell hard for the first time. I would remain a stranger to him for the rest of his Earthly existence, while he became the most inspirational and influential human in my life. He has shaped me in my identity as a human, a dancer, and as a choreographer. His death taught me that there is no recipe for grief; I have never experienced loss quite as bizarrely as I did with Prince’s death. The celebration of his life and the legacy he left when he passed is one of my most cherished experiences that is still ongoing and will remain so until I depart from Mother Earth.

Music has always been a fairly significant component in my life thanks to my Pops, me being a highly sensitive person with heightened senses, my identity as a modern dancer, and as a young cellist. A big thank you to my mom and dad, who were completely liberal when it came to my musical interests. My dad and I share an obsessional level of love for classic rock. I will continue to try, and know I will continue to be met with small doses of success when attempting to open his inflexible eardrums to some newness! Both mom and dad were supportive of and seemed to partially understand my obsession with the Purple One.

My favorite Prince tune to this day, “When Doves Cry” entered my life at the tender age of 7. Soon thereafter, I was seeing Purple Rain (my parents were quite liberal with me in general…which seemed to enhance my extremely liberal nature for the long haul. thank you, parental units). My 7th grade talent show dance: “When Doves Cry.” I even tried to walk down the aisle in 2001 to “When Doves Cry.” My mom was more than relieved when the string quartet broke the devastating news to me that they couldn’t pull off the complexity of that brilliant tune with only four musicians.

Fair enough.

Watching Prince evolve as a human while listening to his endless song and album library filled with complex musical masterpieces has been a glorious gift of a lifetime. I believe that youngsters who are allowed freedom in finding their unique sources of inspiration and motivation is life-changing. I know this can be frightening for adults raising kids, but as long as there is open communication and quality time for understanding, both parties learn a great deal.

Prince being a suitable influence was controversial as he still would be now. Sadly, many children aren’t allowed to explore their sparks of joy and chosen communities of belonging due to adult fear. Suppression of mind only leads to intensified hate and fear. I often think that Prince tapped out on his Earthly existence just when he wanted; he didn’t bear witness to the blatant hate that would overtake the US 7 months after his death in 2016.

Enough sadness.

Let’s step back into the Purple Magic…

Prince taught me how to explore and embrace who I was. The first 20 years of my Purple love were mostly internalized. I began to gain courage and momentum in allowing my external expression and reality to resemble my internal realm in my late 20’s. This would trigger “controversy,” conflict, and fear in others, while simultaneously awakening some of the most courageous and “best” life decisions I have ever made.

When Prince became “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince” and created his brilliant Love Symbol, I was mesmerized. That symbol is tattooed twice on my body, stamped on my car, and is showcased on so many other objects I own that I am just going to stop there. He spent many thoughtful years crafting the symbol, as the history and meanings behind it are profound in my humble opinion. Two of the main ideas I fell in love with were the intertwining of femininity and masculinity, and that being perfectly balanced is an impossibility.

Cheers to that brilliance.

Prince was many many things.
He was an enigma, comfy in ruffles and heels, while still being sexy as hell in his masculinity. To me, he was hilarious, compassionate, controlling as all fuck, not the greatest actor of all time, the utmost perfectionist, an introvert, painfully shy, an activist and humanitarian, and a damned genius. The stories that emerged after his death highlighted his altruistic nature. He loved helping others, and often did so in complete secrecy.

Did I mention genius?

The man could play an ungodly number of instruments. His guitar skills gained notoriety after his death. And now he’s talked about alongside the other greats.

Whew. It just got hot up in here.

He struggled to bridge his sexuality with his faith, which was another magnetic story to follow. His lyrics continued to inform in the realms of politics, humanity, faith, and funky fun.
Several of his later songs were downright prophetic.

And I swear, if I was ever coerced into subscribing to a man made religion, I would rebel and create a female made religion:

Prince.

I was gifted with six Prince concerts during his life, the first three being with my ex hubby, Matt. Each concert grew in beauty for me. The first concert was hard, as he was battling Warner Brothers for his liberty and rights as an artist and musician. He didn’t play any of his classics. He was coming into his faith as a Jehovah’s Witness during his next 2 concerts and was avoiding his sexually and verbally explicit songs of the past, many among my faves. The last 3 were perfect. I even convinced my mom and dad to see him in Oklahoma after I had seen one of his shows in LA. They were not disappointed.

April 21st, 2016:
It would be my ex hubby who broke the news to me.
I was glad it was Matt.
We reminisced on the many Prince memories over the years as I tearfully drove to work. This would be one of the strangest days of my life that I remember in vivid detail.

My beloved Mamaw had passed away a few weeks prior to April 21st. We had shared a deep bond, despite her being a Southern Baptist and me being this Purple, wild, sinful little lamb of the family. My Pops and I had seen her weeks before, and when she passed, I thought to myself, “she’s going to make sure her funeral is scheduled for the weekend I am supposed to go to Coachella!”
And of course this is exactly what happened.
Sneaky Mamaw.

I immediately told my Coachella sidekicks that I would be flying to Oklahoma for her funeral instead of attending Coachella.
Sigh.
I was devastated.
I had been to Coachella once back in 2007, and I was thrilled to be heading back for three gloriously hot and dusty days bursting with ear and soul nourishment.
Ahhhhhh.

At this point in my life, I had built a career of a lifetime as a high school dance director at Canyon Crest Academy High School in San Diego. One of my favorite aspects of my job was discovering music to teach to, write to, and choreograph to. I prided myself on my soundtracks for my shows, and this year’s Coachella lineup had given me an opportunity to explore so many new artists.
So, yeah, I was beyond bummed.
And then some sort of Universal intervention in the form of words from a dear friend manifested.

On April 20th, the day prior to my flight to Oklahoma, or the drive to Coachella, I came down with a migraine and a shitty attitude in the midst of teaching. One of my dearest friends, Khamla, who was teaching with me that day, suggested I call my dad. She had a premonition that I was about to make the “wrong” choice for myself, and perhaps a phone call to my dad would liberate me.
I paused.
Was this really an option?
Wouldn’t that make me the shittiest person alive?
Khamla is one of the wisest, kindest, most intuitive people I know, so heeded her advice.

My dad reminded me that we both had said our goodbyes to his mom a few short weeks ago, and I should do what I thought was best for me.
Well, shit.
It wasn’t quite as much of a “you should go to Coachella!!” push as I was hoping for, but I canceled my flight and decided on Coachella.

I’m sure a lot of relatives had some judgy thoughts, but I’ve come to realize that the only opinions that matter to me are from humans who share my beliefs and values.
A special shout out to my cousin, Alan, the minister who oversaw her funeral and offered me compassion and kindness after I told him.
It was still a hard decision laced with guilt that still lingers.

That next morning, April 21st, 2016, I stopped to grab cash at an ATM on my way to school. I received a text from Anne, my bad-ass boss, that read something like this: “Fuck. They found a body at Paisley Park but haven’t publicly announced a name.”
My heart sank.
No way.
About 10 minutes into my drive, Matt called, and I instantly knew why. He asked if I needed to pull over, to which I replied, “no, I can make it to school.”
As soon as I stopped the car and hung up with Matt, the Purple Rain started.

You see, I only wear purple mascara, so there literally were purple tears streaking my face.

This revelation may have invoked a quick smile amongst the tears. I entered the dance studio with my Purple aviators on, and another dear friend, Nikki, who was currently teaching, knew something was up when she saw me.
Anne entered the studio moments later, and Nikki popped her head in to check on me soon after. Nikki, my mom, and a few others were relieved when they found out why I was inconsolable.
The audacity!
I did find a sliver of humor in it, though.

Over the next few hours, the influx of texts, social media posts, and phone calls felt like the biggest hug ever. It also felt like my significant other had died. I even received a text from my therapist who had never before texted me.
I cried through my classes that day, played Prince music only (duh), told the dancers Purple stories, and knew I was going to produce a Prince Tribute show in the near future.

After school, I reversed my Coachella trek to grab my vintage Purple Rain tee. I had to have it with me at Coachella. This was my first year of meeting my “Coachella Crew,” and little did I know that the core of this crew would become dear friends and Coachella buddies for the next four years. I can only imagine their first impressions as I was completely enveloped in my Purple grief.

Prince was mentioned and celebrated by almost every Coachella artist that entire weekend. At night, Coachella illuminated their glorious palm trees in Purple. I was surrounded by other souls mourning the incomprehensible loss of the Purple One.
It was truly cathartic and healing.

For 2017, 2018, and 2019, April 21st fell on Coachella days, so I was able to transform and devote my entire being to Purple wonder and energetically connect with other Prince freaks at the festival.

Continued catharsis for grief.

Check.

In the Spring of 2017, I created that Purple dance tribute show, and I headed to Coachella right after the closing performance! The opportunity to share my love of Prince with over 200 dancers, parents, choreographers, teachers, admin, and watch a production of dance all in the name of Prince, was an unforgettable, dream-like experience.

Knowing and loving Prince has been a miraculous gift. I am thankful for humans who have always supported me in my weirdness, my obsessiveness, my sensitive-ness, my Purple-ness, some of whom have gently nudged me in directions aligned with my needs that I may not have known at that moment (Khamla, I love you). I have experienced some painful losses, as most of us have, but Prince’s death was unique. It taught me that grief is unexplainable and not to be defined as the same for any two creatures.
Much like no two creatures being the same.
Much like Prince exploring the fluidity and the colorful spectrums of life.
Finding the courage to stand in who you are, even when it feels scary.

Prince, I will love you and continue to spread your Purple magic until I take my last Earthly Breath.

Cheers, Purple One.

I hope you’ve found your “Way Back Home”…