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.

uncertainty

he says

no one knows where they will be or who they will be there with

and i get lost in the freckles peeking out of his shirt and think

i want to go there

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.

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.

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.

co·nun·drum  

/kəˈnəndrəm/

Noun A confusing and difficult problem or question. A question asked for amusement, typically one with a pun in its answer; a riddle.

Synonyms riddle - puzzle - enigma - mystery

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.

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.

my parents,

point b.

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..

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.

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.

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.