What Doesn’t Kill You

Sometimes your harshest critics are those you love. Last night, I was proverbially “called on my shit,” and I wasn’t aware I had shit to be called on. To me, my ongoing journey has been a window into my life; perhaps too honest at times, but rarely different from anyone else’s other than that I’d put stated goals behind it. I’d never looked at it as a sign of weakness.

You can’t please everyone in this world, including yourself. I’ve had plenty of long nights fearful of the next day, harsh conversations with the mirror, moments of quiet, furious judgment that I am “less than.” I further make myself vulnerable by leaving that wound open, gaping, ready for the world to pour salt into it on this blog. Fortunately, most of the world has chosen to either ignore or embrace it.

I think we all need a dose of reality sometimes. My ego can sometimes get out of control, even amid all the insecurities. I can be a seeker in all the worst ways. I can be unhealthy against by better judgment.

But he who is without sin isn’t, unfortunately, always the first to cast the ¬†stone. Here I am, stupidly thinking I’m on a mission to better myself, but I forget that it leaves me open to the world’s interpretation. I’m no Ryan Gosling, ducking away from paparazzi, but I leave my life an open book to be read as one wishes. And maybe that’s not such a good thing.

So with that said, I’m taking a break from the blog for a while. I’m going to continue to better myself, but privately. Because I think that’s what normal people do. And for the record:

  • I’m aware I’ve gained weight recently. Thanks for noticing. It’s funny how that happens with age, job transitions, a fluctuating emotional state, and an unhealthy lifestyle. Fortunately, I’m entirely ignoring the problem – in fact, I did it on purpose and I look forward to watching the scale grow!
  • Yes, I’m a seeker. This is also known as a Millennial. I have varied passions, not all of which need to be fulfilled financially. It doesn’t make me unhappy.
  • Yes, I’m ambitious. This could be interpreted as ladder-climbing or it could be interpreted as leadership skills. I am not a follower. I did not rise in my career because I demanded it. I rose in my career because I earned it. Not every moment was perfect and postcard-worthy. But I think they rarely are.
  • Yes, I am an empath. It’s a weakness. I wear the emotions of others like the robe of skin in Silence of the Lambs. But I guess I’d rather be too empathic than not empathic at all. I’d rather feel all the world’s pain than be numb.

Well, this blog got heavy, huh?

I’ll see you back here when I’m externally closer to where society would like me to be: fulfilled by the present, thin, faultless, normal, and typing in a cubicle. Because to be a seeker is pretty exhausting, and I guess, what’s the point when it just makes you look weak?





I was drifting off to sleep when I realized something key about myself that gave me heart palpitations: I think I might be a #basic person.

For those unfamiliar with the term, these are (typically) women who take humblebrag selfies and drink Pumpkin Spiced Lattes. They are characterized by superficiality wrapped in a mask of humility. These are not likable creatures. They represent something that sucks about Western civilization: we are insanely shallow.

So I started thinking… these elements of “basicness” I know I possess… do I have the necessary counterbalance? Here’s where I’ve landed.

  • I spent an hour doing my nails tonight, but will likely bite them all off later this week.
  • I am getting laser hair removal on my legs, but mainly because I am too lazy to shave.
  • When the time comes, I’ll get Botox, but will probably tell other people because I have no shame and will want them to know how much it hurt, and that I was brave.
  • I enjoy a pumpkin spice item but rarely buy one. Hello, one of those lattes is, like, $5.
  • I use coconut oil as a lotion, which I tried because it was trendy but continued to do because it’s a freaking awesome facial moisturizer.
  • I take selfies with my cats and dogs… okay, there’s no counterbalance here. It just is what it is.
  • I own some designer goods but whenever someone comments on them, I announce how I found them on sale or at Goodwill.
  • I get a blowout every once in a while for a wedding but most days I’m lucky if I brush my hair.
  • I bike to work but I’m so poor at it I ride on the sidewalks for fear I will be killed.
  • I work at a hipster haven-style market but have never been to 80% of its stores, or gone there on the weekend.
  • I enjoy¬†Adele but recognize most of her songs sound the same, and are about the same topic.
  • I’m making homemade dog food, but it’s mostly because I like to cook, and I’m cheap.
  • I watch makeup videos on Youtube but most days, I just wear mascara and lip gloss (then sweat it all off anyway).
  • I travel a lot but sleep on floors in Brooklyn to afford the privilege.
  • I keep a bucket list blog but have done so since before “basic” was even a thing.

So I wonder if every #basic woman feels this way: that although they possess some of those heinous, first-world-style qualities, they have other redeeming elements that somehow exempt them from the stereotype?

I guess for now I’m just going to own my basic-ness and hope that somehow offers me a slight moral high ground over the whole thing.



I’ve been in advertising so long, I take it for granted people know my lingo. I was at the chiropractor, mentioned Q4 insanity, and she stared at me blankly. I explained it meant “fourth quarter” and she laughed and said, “You guys and your technical terms!”

As the holidays ramp up, so does my industry. It’s the usual end of year crunch, and everything is busy.

Meanwhile, life on the homefront continues as usual. Traveling every other weekend, home improvements, guitar lessons. There is something comforting in the consistency; a return to the normal. A pause on my bucket list may just be okay for the moment while my mind continues its long repair process. Sometimes moving forward means staying still.

Happy Q4.


Home Is Where the Art Is

I saw the cute play Sylvia tonight, starring Matthew Broderick and Annaleigh Ashford. Yes, I got a Bueller selfie at the stagedoor but no, I won’t post it on the blog because honestly, I look like a whale. I am no slight lady but this particular angle was heinous.

True to form, I snagged a loner rush ticket because I was flying solo, and I found myself sharing an entire side box with a kid who I assumed was a standard theater gay. Until he opened his mouth.

“Have ya seen this before?” He asked, his drawl apparent.

“No. Are you from the south?” I responded.

He looked sheepish. “You could tell?”

I smiled and nodded.

“I’m from Texas. But I want to move here.”

I confessed my Georgia roots and found myself encouraging this young buck (who is, incidentally, also apparently straight) to live in NY while he is young, with no obligations. Ah, the tables have turned.

The show was fun, and siting in the box made me feel like I should have opera glasses, even though The Cort is small, it was half empty anyway, and I was close enough to have beaned Broderick in the head with a Raisinette, had the moment been appropriate.

There’s just something about going all Lincoln-and-Boothe style in one of those little boxes (perhaps a crass analogy) that truly makes you feel like you’re at the Thea-tah. Even if the play does star a cute blonde playing a dog. 

Anyway, I found my little Texan back at the stagedoor, nerding out just like I always have. I hope he has all the adventures he hopes for when he graduates from college. My, how things come full circle.


It Is Still Possible

I flew into New York last night and felt that excitement, an anticipation in the pit of my stomach. That feeling you got on Christmas morning, that feeling so hard to feel as an adult.

For the first time in years, if only for a moment, I had it back. Maybe there is still a tiny bit of wonder, newness, and discovery left in my life. Maybe bearing 30 won’t be so bad.