cheryl strayed is a woman after my own heart.
her words on the becoming cross my mind every single day.
especially those days where some jackass of a man is standing in front of me
trying to trivialize me at one of my two part time gigs and he says
"okay, darling? you understand, darling?"
in a way that makes me think he has said this all before to some other darling.
and right before this darling blows her cap off, i remember that it will not always be like this.
i will not always work two unfulfilling jobs running on nothing but a green tea high.
these days are the becoming.
these days need to be documented.
and so they will be.
here.
the how
once upon two months ago, a friend and i sat with strong coffee in our hands and oh-so-much in our hearts.
we are seekers, you see.
we want success as we define it.
ultimately, it has little to do with money.
in this housing market and the fact that we both have liberal arts degrees and, let's just be honest with each other, ain't nobody interested in yet another prairie girl with a liberal arts degree...
aye, yes.
it has very little to do with money because we have come to accept that money likely will not come easily.
and that's okay.
we want small spaces.
creaky wooden floors that have been walked upon by many before us.
small stoves and the scent of banana bread wafting through the air.
lights that flicker for seconds before they decide to greet us with their bright bulbs.
windows that open just enough to get some fresh air.
love.
we want a small piece of land.
for a small garden.
we want small cupboards filled with just enough dishes
and fridges filled with just enough food.
we want just enough.
nothing more and nothing less.
and yet this still comes as a challenge.
we stared at each other.
gutted.
not quite sure what to do next.
alright, what do you want?
deep sigh.
i want...i want...damnit, i want one.good.beet.
and, voila.
the why
being a twenty-something gal is both a wonder and a fright.
between the construct of beauty (you know, the botox at twenty five)
the bizarre sexual encounters ripe with lack of experience
mean tweets
career goals
lack of career goals (aka holy-fuck-what-am-i-doing-with-my-life goals)
babies
dating
eating right
bullies that long out last high school (what's it to 'em, any way?)
babies
oh, finding that perfect job
and may as well throw in the man too
did i have a baby yet?
bridezillas (we all know one)
fashion (but what do I really know about this? my favourite jacket is something I bought in grade 5)
new age spirituality shit
i guess, ultimately, if you can both cry hysterically and laugh whole-heartily in one day, there is a real story to be shared there. so, the why really becomes...why not share it?
the who
i guess, me?
but hopefully also you because i surely am not the only twenty-something gal with something to say.
disclaimer
i know nothing about most things
(web design included)
i cannot take a "polished" picture and i rarely use proper grammar (i know how to, i just choose not to...i sort of have an attitude problem).
so, i guess, have low expectations?
yes.
that is what i was trying to go for.
talk soon,
twenty-something and one helluva mess.
p.s. i have a dozen good beets in my garden right now.
7.18.2013
the saluting and the sweating and the everything in between
i once watched a woman do sun salutations for two hours
breathe in
arms up
breath out
down
breathe in
long back, look forward
i could only wonder
what on earth is she doing?
sun salutations and i have this thing; we call it a maximum of fifteen.
and then the sun and i have kind of met our limit, you know?
well, i get it.
i finally get it.
11:30 PM.
i toss and turn and finally i give up
i find myself on my yoga mat
and i breathe in
arms up
breathe out
down
and i salute and i salute and i salute
and i sweat and i sweat and i sweat
and, finally, i get it.
sometimes the heart is so damn heavy.
you have to keep going until it feels light again.
and i end in savasana
saying
dandelion,
dandelion,
dandelion....
pretending my pain is light and fluffy seeds that float away into the abyss
and, then, i sleep.
breathe in
arms up
breath out
down
breathe in
long back, look forward
i could only wonder
what on earth is she doing?
sun salutations and i have this thing; we call it a maximum of fifteen.
and then the sun and i have kind of met our limit, you know?
well, i get it.
i finally get it.
11:30 PM.
i toss and turn and finally i give up
i find myself on my yoga mat
and i breathe in
arms up
breathe out
down
and i salute and i salute and i salute
and i sweat and i sweat and i sweat
and, finally, i get it.
sometimes the heart is so damn heavy.
you have to keep going until it feels light again.
and i end in savasana
saying
dandelion,
dandelion,
dandelion....
pretending my pain is light and fluffy seeds that float away into the abyss
and, then, i sleep.
5.26.2013
an extraordinary person
someone once told me
it takes a long time to make an extraordinary person
i scooped those words up like a dehydrated fool scrounging for water
and i cherished them.
i would only share them on rare occasions.
you know, those times when a loved one is having a break down
because this thing called being-an-adult is a lot more challenging than anyone ever mentioned.
yeah, those moments.
those moments where you cannot breathe because the tears are falling faster than you can sop up.
where you really let life creep in and scare the fuck out of you.
twenty five.
you'll be twenty-five.
you will have spent the last year of your life working away in classes
trying to stand out in applications
and not adding anything of the remarkable sort to your resume.
twenty five.
no pension.
no work experience.
twenty five.
what if you don't get in?
aye.
that is a question that i am just not willing to stare in the face.
but, then again,
what if you do get in?
i cannot answer these questions for myself.
but i can murmur words of encouragement as i rub my swollen eyes
it takes a long time to make an extraordinary person.
there are many things i do not know
and one thing i do.
i am trying.
and that is enough.
damnit, it has to be.
it takes a long time to make an extraordinary person
i scooped those words up like a dehydrated fool scrounging for water
and i cherished them.
i would only share them on rare occasions.
you know, those times when a loved one is having a break down
because this thing called being-an-adult is a lot more challenging than anyone ever mentioned.
yeah, those moments.
those moments where you cannot breathe because the tears are falling faster than you can sop up.
where you really let life creep in and scare the fuck out of you.
twenty five.
you'll be twenty-five.
you will have spent the last year of your life working away in classes
trying to stand out in applications
and not adding anything of the remarkable sort to your resume.
twenty five.
no pension.
no work experience.
twenty five.
what if you don't get in?
aye.
that is a question that i am just not willing to stare in the face.
but, then again,
what if you do get in?
i cannot answer these questions for myself.
but i can murmur words of encouragement as i rub my swollen eyes
it takes a long time to make an extraordinary person.
there are many things i do not know
and one thing i do.
i am trying.
and that is enough.
damnit, it has to be.
5.24.2013
familiarity
because when we first met, i sort of felt like maybe i knew you.
not you, per se. but your eyes were mighty familiar.
they flickered like something i had seen in the past.
i was damn sure of it.
like we had a romance in a past life and i just didn't get quite enough.
so we met again for more.
and, damnit,
i was going to sop it up this time.
not you, per se. but your eyes were mighty familiar.
they flickered like something i had seen in the past.
i was damn sure of it.
like we had a romance in a past life and i just didn't get quite enough.
so we met again for more.
and, damnit,
i was going to sop it up this time.
4.21.2013
on being a dreamer
sometimes i fear that i will never find her.
her (pronoun)- some sort of version of myself that is out there. somewhere. she looks exactly like me except she is established, brilliant and bold. she knows what she wants. and she gets it.
and, sometimes, i fear that i will.
fear is a funny thing.
so is ambition.
and the force that shoots back and forth between them, sometimes multiple times in a day, is nothing short of exhausting.
it is the fear that perks up and says
why can't you be happy with the life that so many other people live?
a life of 8-5, kids, marriage and a sunday sermon where someone tells me i am a good person because i have all of the above.
why must you aim for the stars?
the stars are far.
the stars are high.
and it is the ambition that says
my dear, you are a force to be reckoned with.
you go after what you want
and you get it.
and somewhere between acknowledging what i want and fearing what i want and philosophizing about what i want, it all becomes too much.
i desperately wanted to be outside today.
today was a day for hands to be thrust into soil, for sun on my face and for finger tips grazing leaves.
but spring, and my awakening, has yet to arrive.
by the time the coy sun disappeared, i had to get some air.
i cranked open the window and lay beneath it.
taking big gasps of cold, supposed-spring air into my lungs.
and damnit, it felt good.
and before i knew it, i felt tears form in my eyes.
at first, i resisted.
and then...
you have been strong for so long.
grant yourself these tears.
these tears are a release.
you deserve a release.
and then i wondered
who made me feel so damn guilty about crying in the first place?
so guilty that i feel ashamed when there is no one else in the room
so guilty that my tears become an enemy.
instead, they are an opportunity.
with each tear that strolls down my cheek, a very tiny weight has been lifted.
fear streams out of my eyes, down my cheeks and into oblivion.
fear has no place here.
a little while later, i found my face in the mirror.
aren't you just a sight to behold?
and the face peering back at me was surely me. a little bit swollen. but still me.
me (pronoun) - who i am right now. brilliant, bold, and not even a little bit established. dreamer. in love with too many ideas, people, pets and one man in particular. fearful. bold. bold. bold.
in the end, there is no solution.
there is no enlightenment.
not yet.
there is passion and a dream and recognition of that dream.
there is love.
there is a desire for a stubborn i-don't-want-children woman to immediately change into a wooed i-want-YOUR-children woman.
there is a woman who wants it all.
and like so many women before her, has to chose because having it all is not always an option.
and, to be blunt,
that choice fucking sucks.
last week, in a scene dimly lit by the supposed-spring sunlight, i chatted with a friend
i am hoping that when spring comes, it will bring clarity.
me, too.
i said as i gave her a big hug and off we went into the unknown abyss we call life.
both fearful.
both bold.
bold.
bold.
her (pronoun)- some sort of version of myself that is out there. somewhere. she looks exactly like me except she is established, brilliant and bold. she knows what she wants. and she gets it.
and, sometimes, i fear that i will.
fear is a funny thing.
so is ambition.
and the force that shoots back and forth between them, sometimes multiple times in a day, is nothing short of exhausting.
it is the fear that perks up and says
why can't you be happy with the life that so many other people live?
a life of 8-5, kids, marriage and a sunday sermon where someone tells me i am a good person because i have all of the above.
why must you aim for the stars?
the stars are far.
the stars are high.
and it is the ambition that says
my dear, you are a force to be reckoned with.
you go after what you want
and you get it.
and somewhere between acknowledging what i want and fearing what i want and philosophizing about what i want, it all becomes too much.
i desperately wanted to be outside today.
today was a day for hands to be thrust into soil, for sun on my face and for finger tips grazing leaves.
but spring, and my awakening, has yet to arrive.
by the time the coy sun disappeared, i had to get some air.
i cranked open the window and lay beneath it.
taking big gasps of cold, supposed-spring air into my lungs.
and damnit, it felt good.
and before i knew it, i felt tears form in my eyes.
at first, i resisted.
and then...
you have been strong for so long.
grant yourself these tears.
these tears are a release.
you deserve a release.
and then i wondered
who made me feel so damn guilty about crying in the first place?
so guilty that i feel ashamed when there is no one else in the room
so guilty that my tears become an enemy.
instead, they are an opportunity.
with each tear that strolls down my cheek, a very tiny weight has been lifted.
fear streams out of my eyes, down my cheeks and into oblivion.
fear has no place here.
a little while later, i found my face in the mirror.
aren't you just a sight to behold?
and the face peering back at me was surely me. a little bit swollen. but still me.
me (pronoun) - who i am right now. brilliant, bold, and not even a little bit established. dreamer. in love with too many ideas, people, pets and one man in particular. fearful. bold. bold. bold.
in the end, there is no solution.
there is no enlightenment.
not yet.
there is passion and a dream and recognition of that dream.
there is love.
there is a desire for a stubborn i-don't-want-children woman to immediately change into a wooed i-want-YOUR-children woman.
there is a woman who wants it all.
and like so many women before her, has to chose because having it all is not always an option.
and, to be blunt,
that choice fucking sucks.
last week, in a scene dimly lit by the supposed-spring sunlight, i chatted with a friend
i am hoping that when spring comes, it will bring clarity.
me, too.
i said as i gave her a big hug and off we went into the unknown abyss we call life.
both fearful.
both bold.
bold.
bold.
4.20.2013
the core of it all
when i first told my mom i plan on leaving the province to get an education
she responded with
but what about your boyfriend?
oh, yes. what about him?
as a woman, i am expected to cater to my partner's needs and desires.
but, what about mine?
why is it so difficult for people to grasp that i would be a solo woman in a strange place chasing dreams with no inhibitions.
why is that so problematic?
i cannot help but make the connection between that uneasiness
and the uneasiness that rears its head when i say
kids? sure. but only in ten years. and i only want a month or two off then i want back in the office.
but who will care for your children?
it may be a tad presumptuous, but i assume they will have a father?
i assume they will not just spring out of the earth
and i assume that he will be more than capable to care for them.
yes, i assume a lot of things.
but so do you.
you assume that i will find fulfillment in children and marriage and a home.
you assume that i am not capable of carving out my own path without the hand of a man
and you assume that i need said man to be whole.
but, the thing is,
just because i am a woman does not mean i will plot my life around a man nor will i plot my life around the other things you think i need to be whole as a woman.
and i mean that. i truly, fully, wholeheartedly mean that.
and if that is where this little tale could end, wouldn't that just be simple?
but it is not.
the life of a twenty something is never so simple because
i completely lose my senses when it is 2 am and i wake to the weight of his head on my shoulder
or when i have to stand on my tip toes for a kiss and think that this standing-on-tip-toes-thing ain't so bad
and, truthfully, it might it be nice to have some one say
i will chase you to the edge of the earth just to hold your hand a little bit longer.
yes, i think it might be.
she responded with
but what about your boyfriend?
oh, yes. what about him?
as a woman, i am expected to cater to my partner's needs and desires.
but, what about mine?
why is it so difficult for people to grasp that i would be a solo woman in a strange place chasing dreams with no inhibitions.
why is that so problematic?
i cannot help but make the connection between that uneasiness
and the uneasiness that rears its head when i say
kids? sure. but only in ten years. and i only want a month or two off then i want back in the office.
but who will care for your children?
it may be a tad presumptuous, but i assume they will have a father?
i assume they will not just spring out of the earth
and i assume that he will be more than capable to care for them.
yes, i assume a lot of things.
but so do you.
you assume that i will find fulfillment in children and marriage and a home.
you assume that i am not capable of carving out my own path without the hand of a man
and you assume that i need said man to be whole.
but, the thing is,
just because i am a woman does not mean i will plot my life around a man nor will i plot my life around the other things you think i need to be whole as a woman.
and i mean that. i truly, fully, wholeheartedly mean that.
and if that is where this little tale could end, wouldn't that just be simple?
but it is not.
the life of a twenty something is never so simple because
i completely lose my senses when it is 2 am and i wake to the weight of his head on my shoulder
or when i have to stand on my tip toes for a kiss and think that this standing-on-tip-toes-thing ain't so bad
and, truthfully, it might it be nice to have some one say
i will chase you to the edge of the earth just to hold your hand a little bit longer.
yes, i think it might be.
3.28.2013
dear fourteen old self,
life will be nothing like you thought it would be.
but it will still be okay.
you will not have those twins and that marriage at twenty-five
and you know what?
you are better off without.
this will become very obvious on that one day you are running late (what else is new?) and it is minus 40 out (what else is new?) and you shove your still wet hair into a wool toque and race outside.
there is no way you could have gotten yourself plus two small children out the door 25 minutes earlier.
and there is something sort of beautiful about that.
to your surprise, you will actually be a skeptic of marriage.
in the end, it isn't for you.
but you know what is?
love is.
finding someone to really see and finding someone who really sees you back.
that search will outshine any white dress and gold band.
people will hurt you. immensely.
they will not apologize.
forgive them anyway
because, at the end of the day, you are the one who bears the burden.
you are the one who stays up wondering how someone could be so tactless, so hurtful, so terribly rude...
and then, well, then they have really won.
don't let them.
let it slide like water off a duck's back.
they will have to live each day knowing that they are tactless, hurtful and terribly rude.
and doesn't that just burn?
once you walk out of those dreadful teenage years, you will begin to see that only what you think matters.
no one else.
people are stubborn and slightly delusional. they will believe something because they want to. and they will create their reasoning and their proof for that belief in their head. and they will not sway.
and you know what?
it is not your job to make them sway.
you are not here to persuade.
you are here to flourish.
so do just that.
but it will still be okay.
you will not have those twins and that marriage at twenty-five
and you know what?
you are better off without.
this will become very obvious on that one day you are running late (what else is new?) and it is minus 40 out (what else is new?) and you shove your still wet hair into a wool toque and race outside.
there is no way you could have gotten yourself plus two small children out the door 25 minutes earlier.
and there is something sort of beautiful about that.
to your surprise, you will actually be a skeptic of marriage.
in the end, it isn't for you.
but you know what is?
love is.
finding someone to really see and finding someone who really sees you back.
that search will outshine any white dress and gold band.
people will hurt you. immensely.
they will not apologize.
forgive them anyway
because, at the end of the day, you are the one who bears the burden.
you are the one who stays up wondering how someone could be so tactless, so hurtful, so terribly rude...
and then, well, then they have really won.
don't let them.
let it slide like water off a duck's back.
they will have to live each day knowing that they are tactless, hurtful and terribly rude.
and doesn't that just burn?
once you walk out of those dreadful teenage years, you will begin to see that only what you think matters.
no one else.
people are stubborn and slightly delusional. they will believe something because they want to. and they will create their reasoning and their proof for that belief in their head. and they will not sway.
and you know what?
it is not your job to make them sway.
you are not here to persuade.
you are here to flourish.
so do just that.
3.17.2013
because i have nothing to say
but so much to ponder...
"And I believe in love. And beauty. I believe that every single person has something they find beautiful and that they truly love. The smell of their child's hair, the silence of a forest, their lover's crooked grin. Their country, their religion, their family. And I believe that if you follow this love all the way to its end, if you start with the thing you find most beautiful and trace its perfume back to its essence, you will perceive an intangible presence, a swath of stillness that allows the thing you love to be visible like the openness of the sky reveals the presence of the moon"
- Geneen Roth, Women Food and God
"And I believe in love. And beauty. I believe that every single person has something they find beautiful and that they truly love. The smell of their child's hair, the silence of a forest, their lover's crooked grin. Their country, their religion, their family. And I believe that if you follow this love all the way to its end, if you start with the thing you find most beautiful and trace its perfume back to its essence, you will perceive an intangible presence, a swath of stillness that allows the thing you love to be visible like the openness of the sky reveals the presence of the moon"
- Geneen Roth, Women Food and God
3.13.2013
seven
7. If you’re employed in any capacity, open a savings account. You never know when you might be unemployed or in desperate need of getting away for a few days. Even $10 a week is $520 more a year than you would’ve had otherwise.
as a child, there was nothing i wanted more than financial independence.
i disliked that my mum had to buy my jelly sandals (am i dating myself here?)
i loathed that people had to care for me financially.
it did not seem fair.
i wanted to care for me.
it was nothing short of frustrating
and i needed a solution.
off i went to my mini kitchen to ponder.
oh, yes, i had a mini kitchen.
i ran a make believe household.
it was practically effortless what with all the non-existent meal preparation, plastic children who did not move nor speak and the spotless, never-been-used utensils.
what is so damn hard about this being a "mom" thing?
it seems pretty simple.
i played house just as much as any young girl is encouraged to do.
i had dolls that were my kids and i cooed
and i fed and i burped and i changed their clothes
and then i set them down
and i went to work.
yes, that was my solution.
i gave myself a job because i damn well could.
i was a veterinarian.
a very very serious veterinarian.
some times i was a teacher but usually, i was a vet.
and i would pull out my little toiletry case filled with pedicure tools
and i would puncture my stuffed animals (vaccinations!)
and i would wrap their little paws in paper (casts!)
and i would comfort them when their tummies ached (too many treats?!)
even thick into socialization, i made sure i had a job.
and a damn good one.
financial independence was always important to me
and it still is.
i wish i could say that i saved as much as i could
as soon as i landed my first gig a day after sixteen
but i didn't.
i did not think that far ahead.
i was somewhere between a make believe vet and a lost high school student.
but it is never too late.
it is never too late to tap into that young child who was so dedicated to her make believe vet practice that she skipped lunch and fell asleep on the job.
she dreamt of a big breezy office, happiness and the kind of freedom that comes from knowing when to spend and knowing when to save.
it took her years to know the difference.
and, to be honest, she is still learning.
as a child, there was nothing i wanted more than financial independence.
i disliked that my mum had to buy my jelly sandals (am i dating myself here?)
i loathed that people had to care for me financially.
it did not seem fair.
i wanted to care for me.
it was nothing short of frustrating
and i needed a solution.
off i went to my mini kitchen to ponder.
oh, yes, i had a mini kitchen.
i ran a make believe household.
it was practically effortless what with all the non-existent meal preparation, plastic children who did not move nor speak and the spotless, never-been-used utensils.
what is so damn hard about this being a "mom" thing?
it seems pretty simple.
i played house just as much as any young girl is encouraged to do.
i had dolls that were my kids and i cooed
and i fed and i burped and i changed their clothes
and then i set them down
and i went to work.
yes, that was my solution.
i gave myself a job because i damn well could.
i was a veterinarian.
a very very serious veterinarian.
some times i was a teacher but usually, i was a vet.
and i would pull out my little toiletry case filled with pedicure tools
and i would puncture my stuffed animals (vaccinations!)
and i would wrap their little paws in paper (casts!)
and i would comfort them when their tummies ached (too many treats?!)
even thick into socialization, i made sure i had a job.
and a damn good one.
financial independence was always important to me
and it still is.
i wish i could say that i saved as much as i could
as soon as i landed my first gig a day after sixteen
but i didn't.
i did not think that far ahead.
i was somewhere between a make believe vet and a lost high school student.
but it is never too late.
it is never too late to tap into that young child who was so dedicated to her make believe vet practice that she skipped lunch and fell asleep on the job.
she dreamt of a big breezy office, happiness and the kind of freedom that comes from knowing when to spend and knowing when to save.
it took her years to know the difference.
and, to be honest, she is still learning.
3.07.2013
surrendering
i cannot meditate worth a damn.
i tried. so many times.
people who meditate seem so well put together
i could be them.
or so i thought.
my first meditation class can only be described as pure hell.
i was hungry (read: bored)
my foot was asleep
my low back ached
and there were raucous children just outside the window
this is good
the teacher said.
this is good practice. these kids will help you get deeper into what is supposed to be happening here.
in the end, all i wanted was to go was find those children
and open up a serious dialogue about tomfoolery.
i recently tried again.
two minutes in..
my foot was asleep..
i readjusted
another minutes goes by..
my other foot is asleep..
i am cussing in my head
i desperately want a snack.
how do people even do this?
what is the point of being well put together, anyway?
i am a mess.
i am a god damn mess.
i opened my eyes and was pretty damn sure it had been 45 minutes.
it had been five.
you may wonder why on earth i subjected myself to meditation over and over again
it is because i am searching for the voice
there is some sort of voice that functions on some sort of level that appears at some sort of time and says really profound things about life.
far fetched, right?
i don't seem to mind.
i want the damn voice.
and so it came as a shock when the voice appeared rather unannounced.
there was a brief time of my life where i would wake up at 3 am
three in the morning
there was nothing around that would wake me
i would just wake up.
and moments later, the anxiety would kick in
and low and behold, i would be brewing a pot of tea at 3:30 am.
one morning, i awoke
three in the morning
blink blink
and stared at the ceiling
just about to beg and plead and barter with no one in particular
what do you want? what is it? i will do whatever you want. just let me sleep.
and it said
go back to bed, brittany.
and i did.
and the 3 am wake up calls stopped.
yes, i believe this was my sought-after encounter with the voice.
the ever-so-allusive voice.
and i have been thinking about it a lot as of late because there are so many things that i want
so many aspirations and so many goals and so much love
and i just decided...
what if i stop?
what if i let whatever-the-hell-i-am-supposed-to-be-looking-for find me?
to surrender is frightening but i am not sure i have ever felt so alive.
so...
dear universe,
i am yours.
do with me as you wish.
love,
brittany
i tried. so many times.
people who meditate seem so well put together
i could be them.
or so i thought.
my first meditation class can only be described as pure hell.
i was hungry (read: bored)
my foot was asleep
my low back ached
and there were raucous children just outside the window
this is good
the teacher said.
this is good practice. these kids will help you get deeper into what is supposed to be happening here.
in the end, all i wanted was to go was find those children
and open up a serious dialogue about tomfoolery.
i recently tried again.
two minutes in..
my foot was asleep..
i readjusted
another minutes goes by..
my other foot is asleep..
i am cussing in my head
i desperately want a snack.
how do people even do this?
what is the point of being well put together, anyway?
i am a mess.
i am a god damn mess.
i opened my eyes and was pretty damn sure it had been 45 minutes.
it had been five.
you may wonder why on earth i subjected myself to meditation over and over again
it is because i am searching for the voice
there is some sort of voice that functions on some sort of level that appears at some sort of time and says really profound things about life.
far fetched, right?
i don't seem to mind.
i want the damn voice.
and so it came as a shock when the voice appeared rather unannounced.
there was a brief time of my life where i would wake up at 3 am
three in the morning
there was nothing around that would wake me
i would just wake up.
and moments later, the anxiety would kick in
and low and behold, i would be brewing a pot of tea at 3:30 am.
one morning, i awoke
three in the morning
blink blink
and stared at the ceiling
just about to beg and plead and barter with no one in particular
what do you want? what is it? i will do whatever you want. just let me sleep.
and it said
go back to bed, brittany.
and i did.
and the 3 am wake up calls stopped.
yes, i believe this was my sought-after encounter with the voice.
the ever-so-allusive voice.
and i have been thinking about it a lot as of late because there are so many things that i want
so many aspirations and so many goals and so much love
and i just decided...
what if i stop?
what if i let whatever-the-hell-i-am-supposed-to-be-looking-for find me?
to surrender is frightening but i am not sure i have ever felt so alive.
so...
dear universe,
i am yours.
do with me as you wish.
love,
brittany
2.27.2013
five and six
5. Recognize freedom as a 5:30 a.m. trip to the diner with a bunch of strangers you’ve just met.
6. Try not to beat yourself up over having obtained a ‘useless’ Bachelor’s Degree. Debt is hell, and things didn’t pan out quite like you expected, but you did get to go to college, and having a degree isn’t the worst thing in the world to have. We will figure this mess out, I think, probably; the point is you’re not worth less just because there hasn’t been an immediate pay off for going to school. Be patient, work with what you have, and remember that a lot of us are in this together.
these two belong together.
as odd as it seems, their pairing is clear in my mind.
i remember reading a book years ago about women who studied so hard and thought they would change the world.
they truly believed they had something viable to contribute that would shift the paradigms as we know it and then they graduated and were met with student debt, rejection and, good lord, were they humbled.
i remember reading this book and creating a distinct line between myself and them.
they, well they just don't have the ambition that i have.
they, well they just don't realize their full potential.
and then i graduated, and, good lord, i was humbled.
let's call it like it is folks.
my "useless" bachelors degree does appear to be useless.
in this job market, no one is interested.
actually, i shouldn't say no one.
after all, i did speak to a few potential employers but they:
a) did not bother to read my cv and had no idea who i was
b) were belligerently rude after i drove through the biggest snow storm of the season to be there
c) called me to speak about a job i never applied for (sort of like a except they did know my name this go 'round)
aye, i was humbled.
but that does not mean i regret anything.
i would do it all over again.
every single class, every single reading, every single break down, every single presentation.
i would do it again.
because in those classes, i found myself and i found my interests and passions and i also found things i did not care about.
those classes shaped me as a person.
yes, it is hard to wake every day and not beat yourself up over the fact that you are an incredibly hard worker, passionate and busting at the seams and yet no one seems to care.
oh, and there is that mound of student debt too.
sure, it is damn hard.
and that's where freedom comes in.
i knew right away that in order to survive this post-grad abyss with some sort of grace, i would need to turn things around.
i would need to accept that this time in my life may be the only time i have to explore my interests, to read for hours on end, to brew pots of tea and crochet scarves. to live with my parents and laugh with them and care for them.
once life gets going, it may just go fast.
this may be the time i am given to get to know myself, to find my calling and then to chase it like hell.
and i would be a fool to overlook that.
so i took time that could be spent loathing post-grad life and turned it into light and flighty freedom.
the degree will become something.
some day.
but what is the sense in loathing every minute until it does?
there is no sense in that.
i know enough to know that.
and for now, that is enough.
as odd as it seems, their pairing is clear in my mind.
i remember reading a book years ago about women who studied so hard and thought they would change the world.
they truly believed they had something viable to contribute that would shift the paradigms as we know it and then they graduated and were met with student debt, rejection and, good lord, were they humbled.
i remember reading this book and creating a distinct line between myself and them.
they, well they just don't have the ambition that i have.
they, well they just don't realize their full potential.
and then i graduated, and, good lord, i was humbled.
let's call it like it is folks.
my "useless" bachelors degree does appear to be useless.
in this job market, no one is interested.
actually, i shouldn't say no one.
after all, i did speak to a few potential employers but they:
a) did not bother to read my cv and had no idea who i was
b) were belligerently rude after i drove through the biggest snow storm of the season to be there
c) called me to speak about a job i never applied for (sort of like a except they did know my name this go 'round)
aye, i was humbled.
but that does not mean i regret anything.
i would do it all over again.
every single class, every single reading, every single break down, every single presentation.
i would do it again.
because in those classes, i found myself and i found my interests and passions and i also found things i did not care about.
those classes shaped me as a person.
yes, it is hard to wake every day and not beat yourself up over the fact that you are an incredibly hard worker, passionate and busting at the seams and yet no one seems to care.
oh, and there is that mound of student debt too.
sure, it is damn hard.
and that's where freedom comes in.
i knew right away that in order to survive this post-grad abyss with some sort of grace, i would need to turn things around.
i would need to accept that this time in my life may be the only time i have to explore my interests, to read for hours on end, to brew pots of tea and crochet scarves. to live with my parents and laugh with them and care for them.
once life gets going, it may just go fast.
this may be the time i am given to get to know myself, to find my calling and then to chase it like hell.
and i would be a fool to overlook that.
so i took time that could be spent loathing post-grad life and turned it into light and flighty freedom.
the degree will become something.
some day.
but what is the sense in loathing every minute until it does?
there is no sense in that.
i know enough to know that.
and for now, that is enough.
2.26.2013
uncertainty
he says
and i get lost in the freckles peeking out of his shirt and think
i want to go there
2.18.2013
four
4. Work a service job to gain some understanding of how tipping works,
how to keep your cool around assholes, how a few kind words can change
someone’s day.
i will likely never forget the day she stormed in, hastily and filled with angst.
she threw the bag on the counter and demanded a refund
and
why the hell weren't you open twenty minutes ago?
and the answer was so simple
we don't open till noon.
with the greatest exhale i have ever witnessed, she hissed that she needed to return these earrings.
halt.
sorry, ma'am*. i cannot return earrings. it is against the health code.
*yeah, i was nice enough to call this pulsating puffing creature before me "ma'am"
all the sudden she was screaming.
a grown woman, standing in front of me and simply losing her shit
because she could not return a pair of earrings.
i wish i could remember what she said.
but i cannot because i was so deeply frightened by humanity.
here we are.
you, screaming at me at the the top of your lungs over a pair of earrings that were likely crafted by some poor child in china.
and, me, thinking about the child and how they are likely a lot more mature than you,
wanting to give you a refund to appease the toddler that has emerged in you suddenly
but also wanting to keep my job.
how truly ugly is this?
humanity will completely demonize each other at the drop of a teeny tiny earring.
so, yes, i suppose i know a thing or two about how to keep my cool and say nice things to people.
but that is not something i learned in a service job.
that is something i learned in life.
and if you really think one must work a service job to know how to treat others properly,
i'll let you in on a little secret...
i saw that woman days later.
at her service job.
i will likely never forget the day she stormed in, hastily and filled with angst.
she threw the bag on the counter and demanded a refund
and
why the hell weren't you open twenty minutes ago?
and the answer was so simple
we don't open till noon.
with the greatest exhale i have ever witnessed, she hissed that she needed to return these earrings.
halt.
sorry, ma'am*. i cannot return earrings. it is against the health code.
*yeah, i was nice enough to call this pulsating puffing creature before me "ma'am"
all the sudden she was screaming.
a grown woman, standing in front of me and simply losing her shit
because she could not return a pair of earrings.
i wish i could remember what she said.
but i cannot because i was so deeply frightened by humanity.
here we are.
you, screaming at me at the the top of your lungs over a pair of earrings that were likely crafted by some poor child in china.
and, me, thinking about the child and how they are likely a lot more mature than you,
wanting to give you a refund to appease the toddler that has emerged in you suddenly
but also wanting to keep my job.
how truly ugly is this?
humanity will completely demonize each other at the drop of a teeny tiny earring.
so, yes, i suppose i know a thing or two about how to keep my cool and say nice things to people.
but that is not something i learned in a service job.
that is something i learned in life.
and if you really think one must work a service job to know how to treat others properly,
i'll let you in on a little secret...
i saw that woman days later.
at her service job.
2.16.2013
three
3. Minimize your passivity.
as a woman, passivity is a trait that was deeply embedded in my psyche along with a few other so-called innate traits.
i learned to be quiet and pleasant and compliant and, as i aged, i decided to break some of those rules
and, as a woman, i was shoved right back into passivity.
so i learned to play the same game but with different rules. my rules.
i wear passivity different now.
as a young child, i was shy and scared.
as a young woman, i was shy and feared less.
as a woman, i am learning to ask for the things that i need.
to clarify what needs to be clarified
and to do the sole thing required for all prosperous adult relationships
communicate, communicate, communicate.
at twenty four, the minimization of passivity looks like a bar ledge
and a man who approaches me and asks if i want a drink
and i decline
and he approaches me again, minutes later, asking me the same thing
and i decline
and he approaches me again, minutes later, asking me the same thing
and i sternly say
listen, i was not interested in your offer 5 minutes ago, nor three minutes ago nor am i interested now. if i wanted a drink, i would have accepted the first time.
he, stunned that this woman could speak so sternly in his direction after a seemingly innocent offer, does not say anything except for
wow.
and what more is there to say, really?
when you finally give yourself permission to ask for the things you want, refuse the things that you do not want and articulate your deepest desires.
wow.
i finally have the self-given right to say
i need a hug and any strangers embrace will do the trick right now.
i need you to stop talking to me like i am a child.
i need you to stop neglecting me.
these are all things that require permission to say.
we cannot come right out and say these things.
to express yourself so pin-pointedly is frowned upon.
we are to take things as they come and be damn well happy that they came at all.
who says?
welcome to the game.
as a woman, passivity is a trait that was deeply embedded in my psyche along with a few other so-called innate traits.
i learned to be quiet and pleasant and compliant and, as i aged, i decided to break some of those rules
and, as a woman, i was shoved right back into passivity.
so i learned to play the same game but with different rules. my rules.
i wear passivity different now.
as a young child, i was shy and scared.
as a young woman, i was shy and feared less.
as a woman, i am learning to ask for the things that i need.
to clarify what needs to be clarified
and to do the sole thing required for all prosperous adult relationships
communicate, communicate, communicate.
at twenty four, the minimization of passivity looks like a bar ledge
and a man who approaches me and asks if i want a drink
and i decline
and he approaches me again, minutes later, asking me the same thing
and i decline
and he approaches me again, minutes later, asking me the same thing
and i sternly say
listen, i was not interested in your offer 5 minutes ago, nor three minutes ago nor am i interested now. if i wanted a drink, i would have accepted the first time.
he, stunned that this woman could speak so sternly in his direction after a seemingly innocent offer, does not say anything except for
wow.
and what more is there to say, really?
when you finally give yourself permission to ask for the things you want, refuse the things that you do not want and articulate your deepest desires.
wow.
i finally have the self-given right to say
i need a hug and any strangers embrace will do the trick right now.
i need you to stop talking to me like i am a child.
i need you to stop neglecting me.
these are all things that require permission to say.
we cannot come right out and say these things.
to express yourself so pin-pointedly is frowned upon.
we are to take things as they come and be damn well happy that they came at all.
who says?
welcome to the game.
2.10.2013
two
2. Kiss someone you think is out of your league; kiss models and med students and entrepreneurs with part-time lives in Dubai and don’t worry about if they’re going to call you afterward.
i can count the number of men i have kissed on one hand.
there are two reasons for this.
first: i was raised under the rule of "if they want it, make them work for it"
as it turns out, there aren't a lot of men who want to work for it.
it seems like too much work to amuse a wily woman all for a single kiss.
i guess it might be.
but for those who choose to play...damn, is it fun.
second: i am a hopeless romantic
despite the realist in me, i still believe in true love.
i know better. really, i do.
love is a lot of work.
and a lot of compromise.
and a lot of communication.
and, sometimes, a lot of pain.
but i still believe in moonlit kisses between two people who can feel their heart beat a mile per minute when their only other walks into the room.
i still believe in the giddiness that is love and first dates and sometimes second dates.
and i still believe in holding hands and kissing cheeks and completely losing one self in the eyes of another.
yes, i do.
all that being said,
i really do believe in free love.
kissing one and kissing all is just fine with me.
i don't mind if you have five wives, two husbands, a whole commune of people in love.
i don't mind at all.
love is beautiful.
why not enjoy it in multiples?
if it sounds like i might be testing the waters of monogamy, it is only because i am.
i don't truly believe humans are meant to be monogamous
(says the woman who has been monogamous for five years.
please revert back to the definition of conundrum)
but it has been forced on us for several reasons and so here we are.
making it work the best way we know how.
and, it is just as beautiful as free love.
isn't it?
alas, i don't believe that kissing people "out of my league" will make or break my life.
in fact, i don't believe in "leagues".
i think that recognizing my conundrums and then living the hell out of my life with them in mind
...aye...that is where life really starts.
i can count the number of men i have kissed on one hand.
there are two reasons for this.
first: i was raised under the rule of "if they want it, make them work for it"
as it turns out, there aren't a lot of men who want to work for it.
it seems like too much work to amuse a wily woman all for a single kiss.
i guess it might be.
but for those who choose to play...damn, is it fun.
second: i am a hopeless romantic
despite the realist in me, i still believe in true love.
i know better. really, i do.
love is a lot of work.
and a lot of compromise.
and a lot of communication.
and, sometimes, a lot of pain.
but i still believe in moonlit kisses between two people who can feel their heart beat a mile per minute when their only other walks into the room.
i still believe in the giddiness that is love and first dates and sometimes second dates.
and i still believe in holding hands and kissing cheeks and completely losing one self in the eyes of another.
yes, i do.
all that being said,
i really do believe in free love.
co·nun·drum
/kəˈnəndrəm/
Noun
| |
Synonyms
|
kissing one and kissing all is just fine with me.
i don't mind if you have five wives, two husbands, a whole commune of people in love.
i don't mind at all.
love is beautiful.
why not enjoy it in multiples?
if it sounds like i might be testing the waters of monogamy, it is only because i am.
i don't truly believe humans are meant to be monogamous
(says the woman who has been monogamous for five years.
please revert back to the definition of conundrum)
but it has been forced on us for several reasons and so here we are.
making it work the best way we know how.
and, it is just as beautiful as free love.
isn't it?
alas, i don't believe that kissing people "out of my league" will make or break my life.
in fact, i don't believe in "leagues".
i think that recognizing my conundrums and then living the hell out of my life with them in mind
...aye...that is where life really starts.
2.08.2013
one
1. Make peace with your parents. Whether you finally recognize that they actually have your best interests in mind or you forgive them for being flawed human beings, you can’t happily enter adulthood with that familial brand of resentment.
"Our parents are the primal source. We make our own lives, but our origin stories are theirs. They go back with us to the beginning of time"
- sugar
i could tell you many things about my parents.
i could tell you that they not so much left the nest as much as they were booted out
with a baby in a belly, a cardboard box filled with clothes and a mattress on the floor.
i could tell you that they struggled for years.
but they loved each other.
and that love was all that they needed.
i could tell you that they survived the loss of a child and many more hardships to come and they did it all with so much grace, gratitude and faith that it would make the heart of the hardest man turn to putty.
but that is not my story to tell.
perhaps all you really need to know about my parents is where they leave off and i begin.
now that is a story to tell.
and it just so happens to be my story to tell.
if i ever forgot that my parent's wanted the best for me, it was temporary.
and it was probably riddled with teenage angst.
those were the days that i fought to dissociate.
to break the origin.
but, as life would have it, one can never dissociate from their parents entirely.
they are point b.
and there are many times i raced to them seeking salvation.
and one time in particular...
the first time in my adulthood that someone carelessly toyed with my heart,
(actually, they ripped it out, stomped on it 50 times and then once more just to make sure it was no longer beating..but that is a different story entirely)
i arrived home and there was my mom, proud as could be about her christmas lights.
i had a lump the size of a mountain in my throat and i was unsure if i was going to scream or cry.
come! come see the lights!
and i did. i really only wanted to hurl over and forget it all.
but i looked at the lights and i said they looked real nice.
because she had worked so hard on them.
and, really, they did look nice.
moments later i was on the other side of my door.
and i was on the floor.
and there were tears. everywhere.
perhaps she heard me weeping or perhaps she just knew
moments later she was there on the other side of the door with me.
she knew better than to ask.
i couldn't respond.
not yet.
she held my hand till my breathing regained a somewhat normal rhythm and i told her what had happened.
i could not look at her because i was ashamed and felt like nothing short of an idiot.
and then i felt her tears hit me.
and she wrapped me in her arms and said
i'm sorry this happened to you.
and in that moment, i understood that this was equally hard for her.
she was heartbroken and so was i.
we were back at the origin and we were together.
the next morning i was on the floor on the tub and there were tears everywhere.
maybe he heard.
maybe he just knew.
but after i emerged, there was a letter on the cupboard that read
britt,
i love YOU.
he loved me.
someone else no longer did.
but he did.
and for the first time in 12 hours, i smiled.
this is the tale that outshines all other tales of their unwavering love.
the tale that pinpoints us both together, completely wrapped up in each others feelings
and completely unapologetic for it.
parents.
"Our parents are the primal source. We make our own lives, but our origin stories are theirs. They go back with us to the beginning of time"
- sugar
i could tell you many things about my parents.
i could tell you that they not so much left the nest as much as they were booted out
with a baby in a belly, a cardboard box filled with clothes and a mattress on the floor.
i could tell you that they struggled for years.
but they loved each other.
and that love was all that they needed.
i could tell you that they survived the loss of a child and many more hardships to come and they did it all with so much grace, gratitude and faith that it would make the heart of the hardest man turn to putty.
but that is not my story to tell.
perhaps all you really need to know about my parents is where they leave off and i begin.
now that is a story to tell.
and it just so happens to be my story to tell.
if i ever forgot that my parent's wanted the best for me, it was temporary.
and it was probably riddled with teenage angst.
those were the days that i fought to dissociate.
to break the origin.
but, as life would have it, one can never dissociate from their parents entirely.
they are point b.
and there are many times i raced to them seeking salvation.
and one time in particular...
the first time in my adulthood that someone carelessly toyed with my heart,
(actually, they ripped it out, stomped on it 50 times and then once more just to make sure it was no longer beating..but that is a different story entirely)
i arrived home and there was my mom, proud as could be about her christmas lights.
i had a lump the size of a mountain in my throat and i was unsure if i was going to scream or cry.
come! come see the lights!
and i did. i really only wanted to hurl over and forget it all.
but i looked at the lights and i said they looked real nice.
because she had worked so hard on them.
and, really, they did look nice.
moments later i was on the other side of my door.
and i was on the floor.
and there were tears. everywhere.
perhaps she heard me weeping or perhaps she just knew
moments later she was there on the other side of the door with me.
she knew better than to ask.
i couldn't respond.
not yet.
she held my hand till my breathing regained a somewhat normal rhythm and i told her what had happened.
i could not look at her because i was ashamed and felt like nothing short of an idiot.
and then i felt her tears hit me.
and she wrapped me in her arms and said
i'm sorry this happened to you.
and in that moment, i understood that this was equally hard for her.
she was heartbroken and so was i.
we were back at the origin and we were together.
the next morning i was on the floor on the tub and there were tears everywhere.
maybe he heard.
maybe he just knew.
but after i emerged, there was a letter on the cupboard that read
britt,
i love YOU.
he loved me.
someone else no longer did.
but he did.
and for the first time in 12 hours, i smiled.
this is the tale that outshines all other tales of their unwavering love.
the tale that pinpoints us both together, completely wrapped up in each others feelings
and completely unapologetic for it.
parents.
my parents,
point b.
1.31.2013
who i am at the tender age of twenty four
someone once told me
you are perfect. never change.
i immediately thought
oh, shit.
for the only constant is change, itself.
we all change.
every day. every experience. every minute.
and, so, i guess it should be noted that i have evolved
and in the grand scheme of things, it is slight.
no ground-breaking changes have taken place
but i have experienced heart break that i have never known, did some yoga poses, had an immaculate cup of coffee, cut my hair, ate lots of kale, read a lot and failed at not one, not two but three gardens.
and, despite their fleeting presence, these phases of time have amounted to something much larger.
they have created stepping stones to new and different places.
and they have propelled me forward even when fear grabbed hold of my heart and told me to stay put.
at twenty four..
i stopped looking for love in all the wrong places.
and i started looking for it within me.
and there it was.
a muscle that needed to be discovered, flexed and defined.
a pulsating presence that is always there.
even if i flail.
it remains.
evidently, at twenty one and twenty two and all the years before,
i was muddled at best.
and, yet, i could see how easy it was to love me.
i was thirsty and willing to soak myself in pretty well any vile liquid you threw my way.
it was easy to see me as perfect.
i was, in terms of a partner, ideal.
i was naive and supportive and unsure and willing to do anything for praise.
what a giant leap to the woman i became.
i am skeptical and supportive and unsure and willing to do whatever i want to further expand my love of self.
i am stubborn and loving.
i can be moved to tears by pretty well anything.
but i refuse to show it.
i love a good book and a pot of tea.
i cuss often.
i do not like to be watched in the kitchen
but, damn, do i like to cook.
i give myself wholeheartedly to any situation.
i am working on that one.
i am learning to say no.
at twenty four, i have a handle on my sense of self.
i suppose it is more like a finger tip resting ever so gently on the cusp...but, hell...it is closer than ever before.
...to be continued..
you are perfect. never change.
i immediately thought
oh, shit.
for the only constant is change, itself.
we all change.
every day. every experience. every minute.
and, so, i guess it should be noted that i have evolved
and in the grand scheme of things, it is slight.
no ground-breaking changes have taken place
but i have experienced heart break that i have never known, did some yoga poses, had an immaculate cup of coffee, cut my hair, ate lots of kale, read a lot and failed at not one, not two but three gardens.
and, despite their fleeting presence, these phases of time have amounted to something much larger.
they have created stepping stones to new and different places.
and they have propelled me forward even when fear grabbed hold of my heart and told me to stay put.
at twenty four..
i stopped looking for love in all the wrong places.
and i started looking for it within me.
and there it was.
a muscle that needed to be discovered, flexed and defined.
a pulsating presence that is always there.
even if i flail.
it remains.
evidently, at twenty one and twenty two and all the years before,
i was muddled at best.
and, yet, i could see how easy it was to love me.
i was thirsty and willing to soak myself in pretty well any vile liquid you threw my way.
it was easy to see me as perfect.
i was, in terms of a partner, ideal.
i was naive and supportive and unsure and willing to do anything for praise.
what a giant leap to the woman i became.
i am skeptical and supportive and unsure and willing to do whatever i want to further expand my love of self.
i am stubborn and loving.
i can be moved to tears by pretty well anything.
but i refuse to show it.
i love a good book and a pot of tea.
i cuss often.
i do not like to be watched in the kitchen
but, damn, do i like to cook.
i give myself wholeheartedly to any situation.
i am working on that one.
i am learning to say no.
at twenty four, i have a handle on my sense of self.
i suppose it is more like a finger tip resting ever so gently on the cusp...but, hell...it is closer than ever before.
...to be continued..
1.25.2013
own it
a big part of writing your thoughts down
for everyone to read is, well, just that.
they no longer belong to you
but are up for grabs for everyone to interpret.
do i mind? not at all.
do i have moments of sheer insecurity where i wish i hadn't wrote something? yes.
but then it passes.
and i accept that this is my story. and a beautiful one it is.
and if i share it, others may feel compelled to share their own.
and, so..
what is it about time?
it has this gift of clarifying, healing and acknowledging the past.
time, in and of itself, is a gift.
the other month someone i know seemingly fell off the earth
she was nowhere to be found
i suspected she was struggling.
and i was right.
the other day, she submerged.
alive. but just barely.
she had sunk back into a disordered eating pattern that knocked the wind out of her sail.
she did not have to tell me what was going on.
i simply knew.
i knew that story.
i had been there myself.
years ago, i became obsessed.
obsessed with restriction.
how much can i take away?
how many calories, how many pounds, how many sizes...
this time of my life, spanning a couple of months, is murky
i remember the feeling of hunger
right before bed..
the acute desire to eat
but it was after 7 p.m. and that was out of the question.
i remember being tired.
three miles every day.
not one.
not two and a half.
suck it up.
and run three miles every day.
exhaustion.
i remember feeling ribs.
i remember focusing on my thighs.
i remember thinking it was all okay because people thought it was in the name of health.
after all, i was eating well and exercising.
i was healthy.
it was not until i saw a friend i hadn't seen in a while and she asked
are you okay?
i, aloof, replied
yes, of course. why?
and she frowned ever so slightly..
you're just so thin..
that did not stop me.
of course it did not.
it was not until i injured myself.
i was constrained by injury.
and, my god, was it difficult.
the first evening, i had a melt down.
i needed to move.
now.
there was no question.
i needed to move.
cue sirens.
cue raised flags.
it took years to acknowledge the shit storm i found myself in.
it was not an act of health.
it was an act of obsession.
and i just barely made it through unscathed.
and, so
goodbye to weight scales
goodbye to discipline
goodbye to worthlessness
goodbye to size 4
goodbye to self-loathing
hello to freedom.
and, so
when she approached me, looked into my eyes and said
hello.
i knew exactly what that hello really meant.
for everyone to read is, well, just that.
they no longer belong to you
but are up for grabs for everyone to interpret.
do i mind? not at all.
do i have moments of sheer insecurity where i wish i hadn't wrote something? yes.
but then it passes.
and i accept that this is my story. and a beautiful one it is.
and if i share it, others may feel compelled to share their own.
and, so..
what is it about time?
it has this gift of clarifying, healing and acknowledging the past.
time, in and of itself, is a gift.
the other month someone i know seemingly fell off the earth
she was nowhere to be found
i suspected she was struggling.
and i was right.
the other day, she submerged.
alive. but just barely.
she had sunk back into a disordered eating pattern that knocked the wind out of her sail.
she did not have to tell me what was going on.
i simply knew.
i knew that story.
i had been there myself.
years ago, i became obsessed.
obsessed with restriction.
how much can i take away?
how many calories, how many pounds, how many sizes...
this time of my life, spanning a couple of months, is murky
i remember the feeling of hunger
right before bed..
the acute desire to eat
but it was after 7 p.m. and that was out of the question.
i remember being tired.
three miles every day.
not one.
not two and a half.
suck it up.
and run three miles every day.
exhaustion.
i remember feeling ribs.
i remember focusing on my thighs.
i remember thinking it was all okay because people thought it was in the name of health.
after all, i was eating well and exercising.
i was healthy.
it was not until i saw a friend i hadn't seen in a while and she asked
are you okay?
i, aloof, replied
yes, of course. why?
and she frowned ever so slightly..
you're just so thin..
that did not stop me.
of course it did not.
it was not until i injured myself.
i was constrained by injury.
and, my god, was it difficult.
the first evening, i had a melt down.
i needed to move.
now.
there was no question.
i needed to move.
cue sirens.
cue raised flags.
it took years to acknowledge the shit storm i found myself in.
it was not an act of health.
it was an act of obsession.
and i just barely made it through unscathed.
and, so
goodbye to weight scales
goodbye to discipline
goodbye to worthlessness
goodbye to size 4
goodbye to self-loathing
hello to freedom.
and, so
when she approached me, looked into my eyes and said
hello.
i knew exactly what that hello really meant.
1.17.2013
a home
this blog sprung out of a need to remember things
to record things
to share things
and, so, here it is...while it is still fresh..
it was grungy, at best.
but it was ours.
the kitchen was beautiful in it's own imperfect way.
the floors creaked and cupboards were an odd rusted-black
but i opened them and they were filled with evidence of love
spices, apples and a perfectly stacked row of cookies stood before me.
aye, this is my cupboard.
there was no question about it.
i gave you a cookie.
and with it you walked through the archway, past the vacant dining room and into the living space
a bookshelf lined with books.
that is all i remember.
the bathroom was horrific.
damp carpet lined the floor.
and i knelt down to throw away a speck of garbage that floated
daintily past your grip and sunk between your toes
the room was large and had one king-sized object.
and that was it.
it was brief.
fleeting.
unclear.
but it was ours.
i woke up comforted by nothing and no one and yet everything all at once.
to record things
to share things
and, so, here it is...while it is still fresh..
it was grungy, at best.
but it was ours.
the kitchen was beautiful in it's own imperfect way.
the floors creaked and cupboards were an odd rusted-black
but i opened them and they were filled with evidence of love
spices, apples and a perfectly stacked row of cookies stood before me.
aye, this is my cupboard.
there was no question about it.
i gave you a cookie.
and with it you walked through the archway, past the vacant dining room and into the living space
a bookshelf lined with books.
that is all i remember.
the bathroom was horrific.
damp carpet lined the floor.
and i knelt down to throw away a speck of garbage that floated
daintily past your grip and sunk between your toes
the room was large and had one king-sized object.
and that was it.
it was brief.
fleeting.
unclear.
but it was ours.
i woke up comforted by nothing and no one and yet everything all at once.
1.07.2013
unabashedly
it is okay to feel that ache that signals loss.
to glide my finger tips along that canal of pain.
that metaphorical hole in my anatomical heart.
to try and hold it dearly.
and, sometimes, it is okay to suffocate it the way it suffocates you.
but it may surface. at any given time.
this is the cost of being a human who feels emotions, good and bad.
it may be that time you are folding laundry and suddenly you are sobbing
you are holding two different socks and you are sobbing
and the dog is at your feet immediately and only wants to give you a hug
and this act of kindness from flesh that is not your own is too much in this moment
and you only sob harder.
this is okay.
this is acceptable.
give in and flop to the floor.
the dog will be grateful. he can finally give you that hug and lick all the tears that stream down your face.
or somewhere between lips, hips and hands
you panic for a moment.
a slight moment.
and you instinctively tense your body
as you think
my god. i would have his children. i would do it. proudly.
it is nothing short of frightening to love another entity so much
then he says one word
and that one word is the only word that needed to be said.
and your muscles become putty.
and then, well, emotions pick up where language left off.
i guess that is the trick.
we do not get to pick when these emotions surface.
but we do get to pick to what extent.
so feel them.
unabashedly.
to glide my finger tips along that canal of pain.
that metaphorical hole in my anatomical heart.
to try and hold it dearly.
and, sometimes, it is okay to suffocate it the way it suffocates you.
but it may surface. at any given time.
this is the cost of being a human who feels emotions, good and bad.
it may be that time you are folding laundry and suddenly you are sobbing
you are holding two different socks and you are sobbing
and the dog is at your feet immediately and only wants to give you a hug
and this act of kindness from flesh that is not your own is too much in this moment
and you only sob harder.
this is okay.
this is acceptable.
give in and flop to the floor.
the dog will be grateful. he can finally give you that hug and lick all the tears that stream down your face.
or somewhere between lips, hips and hands
you panic for a moment.
a slight moment.
and you instinctively tense your body
as you think
my god. i would have his children. i would do it. proudly.
it is nothing short of frightening to love another entity so much
then he says one word
and that one word is the only word that needed to be said.
and your muscles become putty.
and then, well, emotions pick up where language left off.
i guess that is the trick.
we do not get to pick when these emotions surface.
but we do get to pick to what extent.
so feel them.
unabashedly.
1.02.2013
doors
i have been thinking about endings.
and beginnings. and everything in between.
vague.
as most things are these days around here.
somewhere between tangible and abstract, i sit.
thoughts emerge and i observe them. but that is it.
i just observe. quite frankly, i am too exhausted to do much more.
among these thoughts...
i love when people find their passion. that thing...whatever it is...that aligns with their soul and they could not be happier. find that thing. find it.
in all storybooks, they end up together. they always do.
who is the protagonist any way?
i wonder what she would say...
i should leave
i should stay
maybe i should be a housewife
maybe my biological clock is ticking
i wonder how one freezes their eggs..
how old am i?
i wonder if it is still socially acceptable to be this lost when i am thirty?
i should leave.
but i don't. i sit on the cusp of something.
hell if i know what it is.
i pull out my yoga mat and i move.
odd connection, no?
i had a teacher that used to say
ease into the pose slowly...like you are opening a door..just peak in..you do not need to walk all the way in...just peak in...then close that door. visit it another day. and you will get farther in.
that is what i do. i open metaphorical doors. doors that enclose my thoughts but i don't dare venture too far.
there is no need to figure out everything all at once. to open the doors too wide. there is no need.
one day at a time will do.
1.01.2013
the becoming
"the useless days will add up to something. the shitty waitressing jobs. the hours writing in your journal. the long meandering walks. the hours reading poetry and story collections and dead people's diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. these things are your becoming"
- sugar
please let it be true.
- sugar
please let it be true.
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