Aug 092015
 

What’s with all my dying talk?

I don’t know. It’s been on my mind a lot. I’ve been reading a whole lot of woo-woo books lately and they must be getting to my head (wink.) You know the ones. They have “Spiritual” or “Energy” or “Soul” or “Universe” in the title and some weird tribal pattern or picture of a goddess on the cover. I love me some woo.

I haven’t been in the mood for anything I’m usually in the mood for recently. The people who used to fire me up sound like nails on a freaking chalkboard. Anything that used to motivate me makes roll my eyes so hard they could disappear. A “motivational” quote puts a scowl on my face that could haunt you for the rest of your life. Oh, you haven’t seen my unintended yet incredibly effective faces? They’re no joke. I have an ex-boyfriend who used to make up songs about my faces. True story.

Hustle more. Work harder. Life is short. Take action. More effort. More focus. More goals. Do more.

More more more. Blah blah blah.

You could die tomorrow. Do it now.

Blahblahblahblah. Blahhhh. BLAHH.

I love these people. Really, I do. It must be me. Maybe it’s just the words that are bothering me. I don’t know if I’m forever changed or going through a phase. Only time will tell.

But really, what if you were going to die in a few months? It’s a fine experiment to do. It will make you think about what really matters in life. But how realistic is it unless you’ve actually been told you have three months to live? I can’t live life pretending I’m going to die soon. Nope. Doesn’t work that way. I don’t want to live constantly thinking about death anyway. Even if I could, what would I do?

Nothing having to do with work or productivity.That’s for damn sure.

I would visit with my family and lay on the beach and watch my nephew play and drink and eat and maybe smoke cigarettes and listen to my favorite songs and probably write about it all. I would not go anywhere near a “hustle.” Stress has little appeal to me now and even less so if I knew I was going to die soon. I don’t want to spend my last days like that. I actually don’t want to spend any days like that.

I’m kind of starting to freak myself out right now. I really hope I don’t die soon.

But then, what about the people who are told they have 3 months to live and end up living for five years? OR they heal and live a completely regular full life? Miracles happen all the time. I wonder what it’s like for those people. A brush with death is certainly a cliche reason for anyone we see living a life of purpose. Brendon Buchard. Hal Elrod. The thousands of near-death-experience cases I’ve read about. They get this second chance at life that not only gives them a second chance at life but also a very profitable career.

That isn’t a knock. I love these people and their experiences. I have to wonder if there are times they forget they almost died. Do they ever lose the moment or sweat the small stuff or waste time? I’ve read books that indicate thousands of these experiences but can name the people making use of it on one hand. What about the rest of them? The people who don’t want to tell or don’t know marketing go on living seemingly normal lives because that’s all there is on this planet. Life on earth is beautiful but can also be a bit limited. Even if you do see the other side. Especially if you see the other side. You come back to this life and then, well…you’re back in this life.

Maybe I’m wrong.

If I am wrong, what if you aren’t one of those “lucky” people that almost dies? You don’t ever face death but for whatever reason you still want more from this life. Is my reason for wanting a life of purpose less important or meaningful or just some watered down version of theirs because I haven’t been close enough to death? I think about death and dying all the time. Clearly. I’ve even had intense, real experiences that have led me to believe I might die. They didn’t catapult me into my life’s purpose. They simply reminded me of what matters most and give pause to what I was doing with my time.

My next question is what if you were going to live forever?

Would that change things for you? Would you be OK to do whatever you’re doing…forever? If you’re miserable right now would you be able to “suck it up” just a little bit longer? If you’re unhealthy, would you take better care of yourself starting now knowing that you’d have to feel this way for the rest of all time? Or would you have a few more beers or slices of pizza because you know you have more time to make it right?

Doing things that make you miserable will still make you miserable whether you live until December or until infinity.

The more I think about it the less I understand. And the more I think about it, the smaller the gap between dying tomorrow and living forever seems to get. Sure, reality still exists. We need money. We have to eat. Maybe we have to take care of loved ones. But really, what’s the difference? There almost isn’t one. Would you want to live the life you’re living right now forever? Would you want all the time in the world to try out new things or change things you don’t like about yourself or your life or find your soulmate or do all the things you’ve ever wanted to do? How would you prioritize then? What would matter most to you then?

If I knew I was going to live forever not much changes. It definitely doesn’t change anything that matters, anyway. And it almost feels better. I would still visit with my family and lay on the beach and watch my nephew play and probably write about it all whenever I could. But this time I don’t have to worry about time running out on me.

So I’m taking the pressure off right now. I’m going to plan to live forever instead of forcing myself into something because life is short. I’m going to do my best to do things I like and not do things I don’t. I’ll try to be in the moment more often than I’m not. I’ll think less about dying and think more about how I want to live. I’ll do my best to spend time on things that I care about that grow my world instead of suck the life out of me.

Hustling, for example.

So whether it’s now or never, death? We’re totally cool to meet up.

 

 August 9, 2015
Aug 042015
 

Facebook plays such a weird role in my life.

Remember when that boy I maybe loved was in town a couple months ago? I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for Facebook. I would have preferred to not know. Maybe then it wouldn’t have bothered me so much when he didn’t let me know he was coming to town. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much when he made an effort to see everyone we used to be friends with except me. Someone always gets squeezed out, right? You never think it’s going to be you.

I wanted to block him. I wanted to block him so bad. But I didn’t.

“Don’t, Katey,” I thought. “You’ll regret it.”

What if he finds out? It’s wrong and petty and childish. You’re stronger than that. Don’t be immature. Just get over it already.

I did the next best thing and blocked his girlfriend instead. She’s the one posting their relationship bliss all over the place anyway. Did you know that Facebook apologizes when you block someone?

“We’re sorry that you’ve had this experience.”

Me too, Facebook. Me fucking too.

Nobody has to know. Well, except you guys know now. Oops. But guess what? It worked. I didn’t care about it anymore almost immediately. I didn’t care about her. I didn’t care about him. I don’t care that he came to town and didn’t tell me. I don’t wonder if I’ll ever see him again. I don’t care that he broke my heart. I don’t care that it might still be broken. It all just goes away. Off of Facebook and back into the Universe where I don’t have to worry about what’s going to happen anymore.

So, it turns out the only really childish thing is not doing what you need to do to move on with your life.

Facebook also told me about my friend Travis’s birthday last week. I wouldn’t have known this either but Facebook told me so. I posted a picture of us on his birthday a few years ago and Facebook reminded me that post was on this day those years ago.

Thanks, Facebook.

Thanks for reminding me of his birthday. Thank you for also reminding me that I didn’t remember his birthday. For a second I felt sad, like I should have felt guilty or something. I didn’t feel guilty. I think of him all the time. One of my favorite pictures of my life is that picture of me and him. It hangs in my kitchen and I see it everyday. Sometimes I think of him at the most random times, too. It’s not a coincidence. Does he care if I remember his birthday? I don’t know what it’s like to be dead but I have a hunch birthdays aren’t really a thing after you die.

The hardest I can remember crying was when I found out Travis died. Have you ever cried so hard you feel like you’re going to throw up? So hard you can’t breathe? So hard that you forget why you’re even crying, and then you’re just crying because you’re so scared you forgot why it started, and you feel like it will never stop? So hard you feel like you’re going to die? So hard that it feels like the energy it takes to get every last tear out of your body will actually, physically kill you? I wouldn’t wish a cry like that on anyone. But it’s definitely something everyone should experience at some point.

I remember the last conversation I had with Travis like it was yesterday. The last time I heard his voice. He sounded so sad. It wasn’t strange to go a while without talking to him. The time when “a while” did feel strange is when I asked someone about him at a party. They told me he was dead. He had already been dead for months. Learning that someone you love has been dead for months is one of the worst feelings I can think of. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone either. You live your life assuming everyone you love is going about their days as usual. That isn’t always true.

When I got home from the party I puked my guts out and cried the cry I described above on the bathroom floor until I fell asleep. My neighbor must have heard it all through the wall because he looked at me really funny the next day and sounded really curious and sincere when he asked me how I was doing.

There have been other experiences with death, too. Nello. My grandfather. A family friend that hung himself when I was in middle school. Another family friend that died after a supposed bad acid trip. It was the middle of winter and they found him almost naked in a puddle. Dead. I’ve never tried acid. I probably never will.

A few times I thought I was going to die, too. Two times were in Thailand. One was in the upstairs corner room of that pink house. Maybe it was Malaria. Maybe it was the flu but that’s just what the flu feels like when you are 8,000 miles from home.

The second time was in an upstairs corner room of a dirty hostel room in Koh Tao. That time it could have been severe dehydration. Food poisoning, maybe? Or my body physically rejecting my efforts to stay in Thailand as long as possible. I’ll never know. I’m glad I didn’t die that time because dying alone surrounded by empty Pocari Sweat bottles and a half broken toilet would have been a shitty way to go out. Pun intended. Thailand is beautiful and weird and magical. I don’t know if it is even a real place. Maybe I did die there? A part of me did at least. Maybe feeling like you’re going to die is all part of the magic.

Because feeling like you’re going to die is coincidentally the part that makes you feel alive.

I don’t need Facebook to remind me of that.

 August 4, 2015
Jul 262015
 

I don’t get things right very often.

Need examples?

Here’s one. Here’s another. I’ll leave it up to you to find the rest.

Life has been pretty weird lately in a one-step-forward-two-steps-back kind of way. Last month took every last ounce of me. It was so full of birthdays, weddings, visitors, too many work hours and too many happy hours. Each on it’s own is a beautiful thing. Each one lasting into the next has left me with nothing left.

“Don’t give what you need to keep for yourself.” – Deb Kern

This is a lesson I need to learn again and again and again. Every time I think things are coming back together they seem to fall even farther out of reach. Breakdown before a breakthrough, right?

My breakdown always looks the same. Self-doubt. Chocolate cravings. Puppy adoption websites. Spending hours upon hours trying to find the best flight deal to the closest non-english speaking country with a decent scuba dive. Obsessing over all the things I’ve ever done and ever want to do. Silently suffering through the breakdown, impatiently wishing and hoping for that breakthrough. In the meantime, the days are so long but the weeks go so fast. The days just don’t end.

10:37 a.m.

10:51 a.m.

11:02 a.m.

This goes on all day until I’ll realize on my way home that the next day is Friday again. Huh? Let’s ignore the fact the July is almost over to avoid inducing an anxiety attack. Age 31 is quickly creeping up on me and I’m feeling a little bit blah-blah. I’ve loved 30. Am I ready for it to be over?  I certainly made progress this year but we all know it’s never enough for me. So much has changed in just a year. Thinking about that much changing in the year to come is honestly a little intimidating. And I don’t even work that hard, guys. Imagine if I worked twice as hard? Ten percent more? Even just ONE percent harder? I’m consistently frustrated with the part of me that will work super hard for someone–hell, anyone–else but can’t seem to work as hard for myself. I think most people are like this. Admitting it is the first step.

Even so, I’ve come a long way. The best part of having a blog is knowing exactly where you were a year ago. Coincidentally, the worst part of having a blog is also knowing exactly where you were a year ago. Last summer was a fucking mess.

I had an injured ego, injured shoulder and an injured liver from downing bottles of Pinnacle Whipped vodka or Pinot Grigio every night. I might still be recovering from all three. Maybe I’m not as strong as I thought. Or maybe things always take much longer than I think they will. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. A year seems like such a long time. I don’t want it to seem that way. I really, really don’t. Because a year isn’t a long time. It only becomes a long time when you are impatient and want something right now. A year isn’t a long time at all when you think about how long you’ve wanted and been working towards something. Two years? Ten years? Since you can even remember? And if you really truly want something, you’re willing to wait for it and work for it forever. Get whatever or die trying. Sounds bleak. So does giving up. I’ll go with “die trying” for now.

So I’m sitting here wondering and writing about all the things. What would totally make this year? The tired and weary  part of me wants to convince myself that 30 was made before it even started. It wants me to rest now and coast on this for a while. The nothing-is-ever-good-enough/I’m-too-hard-on-myself part says there is work to do. This part won’t let me sleep at night. It wonders if she can write a book in two months? Can she get coaching clients? Can she rebuild and rebrand her website? Can she get back in shape and heal her body and pay off her debt and also take a trip to a tropical island where she’ll drink coffee in the morning and tequila at night and magically, literally bump into the man of her dreams as she exits a diving boat after a mind-blowing day of scuba-ing warm crystal clear waters with whale sharks?

Totally doable by September 23rd. Right?

The truth is sometimes I feel like I can’t even do those things in this lifetime, let alone before 30 slips away. I’m not giving up, though. Not just for me, either. I can’t give up. People need my book. They need my coaching. They need my self-indulgent thoughts and my website and everything I’ve learned about how to live in a body that doesn’t even feel like it’s yours half the time. My future self needs me to pay off this debt that has been weighing me down for a goddamn decade and my future love is wandering the planet waiting for the magic he’ll feel when he bumps into me.

As for getting things right? I’m starting to reconsider. Maybe right and wrong don’t even exist as long as you’re learning along the way. If that’s the case, I think we’re all doing just fine.

 July 26, 2015
Jul 092015
 

What do I do now?

The fact that my last post was on May 18th hurts my heart. When did this happen? Why do I do this to myself?

Not to mention, my state of mind at that time is not fun to read. I’m beginning to think that what I write either becomes something I absolutely adore or something I completely despise. There is no in between. There is nothing I wrote that is “good” or “fine” or “meh.” It is either fucking terrible or makes me want to call myself an actual writer.

I guess that isn’t the point, though. I also guess that everyone wants everything they do to be the most amazing thing they’ve ever done, much better than the last thing they did. That isn’t how it works. Not for me. Not so far, anyway. But I’ll keep writing. This way I at least get the chance to make the next thing better than the last thing. If I stop now and write nothing, the next thing is definitely not going to be better than the last thing.

I can’t live like that.

I will always beat myself up for not writing more, not remembering more, not doing more, not saying more. As I type that, I begin to feel ridiculous. Because I feel like all I do is think about what to write, try to forget things that happened, wish for a break, and decide that the people I enjoy talking to can be counted on two hands.

You can’t handle the truth. It’s ok. I can’t handle it either.

I try really hard not to put up with bullshit. It’s not easy to do. People don’t like when you don’t put up with their bullshit. I try really hard not put up with people treating me like shit or dragging me down or trying to make me be more like them. Once in a while I let people do this and I immediately regret it. Sometimes I probably cut people out too soon to avoid said regret. It leaves me lonely a lot of the time but at this point in my life this is how it is.  I don’t know how else to do it. I’m not strong enough. I can’t allow people who treat me like shit into my life or I will die. I can’t even let them in halfway. I will drink and do drugs and become a loser and I. Will. Die. I will gain fifty pounds overnight. I will spend all my money and then some. I will drink vodka and red wine until my teeth turn purple. I will drunk dial and text and wake up in the biggest hate/shame spiral you’ve ever seen. Do you know the only way to fix that spiral? Mimosas for breakfast.

Everything I just wrote makes me want to throw up a little. Life is a little like my posts right now. So much of it is so fucking good that I want to feel it and experience it forever. Other parts of it are so incredibly gross. If we’re talking about handling the truth here, I’m handling this part somehow. If I ask my guts how they feel about it, they tell me it’s better this way. If everything was just blah, well then…everything is just blah. At least this way we get the good, too. We even get to decide how good it is and how much we want to feel it. We get to notice that it can still be good even with the pile of shit right next to it and that the reason some of it is so good? Is because it’s next to a pile of shit.

I’m OK with that.

I’ll sit here in between my piles of awesome and my piles of shit and try to make the next thing better than the last thing. That is definitely what I do now.

 July 9, 2015
May 182015
 

I’ve never been so excited for a Monday in my life.

I’ve been pretty awesome. Work is busy and good. My coaching course is almost done. Summer is just a blink away. My best friend and my entire family are coming to visit next month. My garden is growing like crazy. I’m almost 100% recovered from a disgusting head cold and a broken big toe (Seriously…don’t ask.)

But then this weekend seemed to be the culmination of all things anti-Katey. As soon as it started I just wanted it to be over. Since I couldn’t make it be over, I did everything I could to pretend none of it was happening. My favorite question to ask when someone is doing something ridiculous like that:

How’s that working for you?

It started out with an invitation from a friend I’ve been trying to avoid for months. Instead of ignoring his “Want to grab a beer?” text I invited him to a full blown dinner at a place we used to frequent. We always had friends that worked that and got lots of free beer and sake in order to drink ourselves into a stupor. That’s exactly what we did, obviously.

Then I had to send my RSVP +1 in for my friend’s wedding next month. The one guy I asked more or less gave me a flat out “fuck no,” leading me to fully invest in the thought that there is something seriously wrong with me and I am going to die single and alone. I tried to make myself feel better by deciding I would find an amazing dress this weekend instead of an amazing date. I failed miserably. No dress. No date. Table for one, please. Wait, no. Just serve me my filet mignon at the bar.

Just in case my ego wasn’t fully beaten into a pulp, the only boy I’ve ever maybe loved was in town this weekend for his little brother’s graduation. He is with the girl who has been his girlfriend since me and him parted ways years ago.  The only thing more annoying than the fact that they are her together is the fact that I even care. Why do I? Down and out with wedding date rejection is soooo much better with a reminder that you still can’t let that stupid boy go.

Ugh. I didn’t want to feel any of it but it turns out I felt all of it anyways. Ain’t that a betch. Apparently no amount of wine or vodka can numb this girl anymore.

As far as how pretending none of it was happening worked for me? All I got was all the freaking feelings anyways. PLUS a hangover. No bueno.

I can’t numb it so I may as well just feel it. I think that makes it be over faster. Through. Not around. We know this one, guys. I’ve learned it over and over again for you.

Monday. I was real happy to see you. There is something about the weekend that really gets to me sometimes. I need a routine. I need work. I need something more. I guess I know all this too and just forgot. What is that anyways?

It’s the extreme balance of the universe. Duh. The second you forget about it is the second the universe decides to throw a reminder brick (or three) at your head.

Most of the above bitchfest is easy to imagine balancing out. If that guy hadn’t left for her, I may not have done all the amazing things I’ve done in the last five years. Maybe I’ll meet someone at the wedding and a date would totally cramp my style. Maybe that guy I invited will end up doing something else that night that will totally change his life for the better. Maybe the perfect dress is waiting for me next weekend. Maybe I need a reminder that it’s time to finally let go.

This goes on and on and on. It’s actually an amazing tool for gratitude practice. How is this best thing for me the worst thing that happens to someone else? And how is this worst thing that happens for me creating the best thing for someone else?

What about the person who was fired from the dream job that I was then hired for? What about when I was the other girl and caused someone else to feel the way I’m feeling…without even knowing? There has got to be a million other examples.

I need to miss out on something to have this awful time in my mind. I have to have this awful battle with my ego to figure out what it is I actually need and want. I have to believe that everything I feel like I’m missing out on is creating something beautiful for someone else right now, right in this second that I feel like I’m missing it. I also have to believe that the awful feeling of right now is creating space for an amazing feeling for me at some point in the future.

Because remember when I felt like this?

Or like this?

Then this happened? Or this?

Yeah. I definitely believe the amazing is on it’s way.

 May 18, 2015
Apr 072015
 

Facebook is doing this cute new thing where they show you a picture of something you were doing “x years ago today.” When I logged in today it was a picture of the beach in Pattaya, Thailand exactly three years ago.  I had been abroad for a few weeks and had probably been in Thailand for a day or two. Pattaya was my first stop. I remember taking the picture. I even remember some of the comments I got after posting it:

“Is this a real picture?” 

578315_10151548948130174_1744354967_n

Oh, yeah. It’s a real picture. I understand the comment, though. Sometimes I have a hard time believing I took it. Sometimes I almost can’t believe that I was ever even there. Man, I was a crazy mo-fo back then. I guess I still am because I’d probably do it all again in half a heartbeat. What an amazing part of my life to look back on.  That place and picture wouldn’t even hold a candle to what was coming for me. The past is such a funny thing, though. And pictures don’t tell the whole story. I rarely look at the photos I took when I was in Thailand. Three years later, I still find myself with a lot of what-ifs.

What if I stayed longer? What if I had never even gone? What if I went somewhere else instead of coming back to the states? What if I went back right now? What if had died there? No really. I thought I was going to die over there more than once. My what-ifs aren’t regret. There isn’t any sadness or sorrow or negativity behind them. I don’t feel like I missed out on anything I won’t have the opportunity for again. My what-ifs just feel really curious. There are so many unanswered questions about what was really going on for me during that time in my life.

And thinking about that time in my life always makes me think about this picture:

cropped-photo-bw1.jpg

Have you seen this picture? Yeah, that’s my nose. And my finger. Do you see that heart on my fingernail? It was right before Valentine’s Day. I’d just survived the worst, most depressed, upsetting months of my life. I was doing everything in my power to make myself feel okay – tiny nail polish hearts included. Things still weren’t great. I’d been back in the states for 6 months. I felt as if I’d failed miserably at moving to Thailand. I was obsessed with getting back to San Diego. I was 28 and living with my parents. I had to take a job earning 10 bucks an hour working for someone 5 years younger than me. Thinking about these things two years later still makes me cringe a little bit.I was slowly coming out the other side, though. That shitty job got me out of the house and actually turned into something I had fun with.

One night, I took my iPhone into the upstairs bathroom. I took photos. Lots of them. I had joined Fizzle and was bursting with motivation. I had so many ideas pouring out of me all the time. I had a legal pad full 0f blog post topics. I wrote a 32 page guide about how to get over the calorie counting obsession. I stayed up until 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning changing around the design and messing with the CSS of the site and writing program outlines. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to do with the website and my ideas and my life. I published posts and articles and inspiration. I even scheduled a podcast interview with another Fizzle member to talk about it.  I asked people to tell me about what they were going through. I wanted their “Calorie Confessions.” They emailed me. I responded.

And then I just…stopped. I can’t even remember why. Maybe I was waiting for something. Maybe I gave up. Maybe I was scared. Maybe it just didn’t feel right. I deleted everything that was there and put up a “coming soon” page. I really did think it was coming soon at the time. Or at least I thought it was coming “as soon as.” As soon as I lost more weight. As soon as I felt better and wasn’t so depressed. As soon as winter was over. Then as soon as summer was over. As soon as I moved back to San Diego. As soon as…everything. I’ve been through so much since then you’d think it would count as “everything.” Instead, calorieconfessions.com has been sitting there for over 2 years. I know in my fucking gut that my life is in that website somewhere. Somewhere.

I’ve wanted to be a coach and start this thing up for years, long before I even went abroad. The funniest part? Now I have a job that I love. I can’t possibly imagine giving it up but it almost makes me want to do my own thing even more. I want to be a coach and have my own business more than I did when I was working a soul-sucking job for minimum wage. Maybe it’s because I work so closely for someone that is doing what I want to do so well. Maybe I’ve finally gotten to the point where I simply can’t not do it anymore. Maybe I’m finally in a place where I don’t really have anything to lose. Maybe, because I have this job, there is no desperation or neediness around it. It’s become this piece of my life that is just…missing. It isn’t lost. I don’t have to chase it. I know exactly where it is. I just need to pick it up and put it back in it’s place.

The other part of this whole loving your job thing is that, well…you love your job. You know that you would also love your own business, doing your own work. How do you pick one?

Answer: You don’t.

You get to have both for as long as you want. You get to love both. You get to have it all until the time comes when you only want one or the other or something else completely. If you want both forever, that’s okay, too. If you want to quit it all and start over tomorrow – fine. I was giving myself anxiety about a decision that doesn’t even have to be made. This seems to be something I do right before I find myself taking a picture of my life that makes other people ask if this is even real.

So…is it a real picture?

Yup. It’s real. And it’s real fucking beautiful. Just like the rest of the pictures that got you from that moment three years ago to this moment right here.

 April 7, 2015
Mar 272015
 

If I don’t get a post out right now SO HELP ME UNIVERSE I might explode into a million unreleased, unfinished, twisty tied up thoughts and feelings and sentences that will splatter all over the space around me and make a horrible MESS.

Wow. I feel better already. And phew. Because I don’t think anybody wants to clean up Katey-splatter.

You know my drill, guys. I wait until I have too much to say and end up saying nothing at all. I don’t know why I do this to myself. I was almost certain that things would get better after I talked it through with 2015 so far. It turns out things have only become wackier. I’m pretty sure it’s an actual thing that is going on, though. Meaning…it isn’t just me. There is a verified weird universe energy ju-ju and it is making everyone a little crazy. I tried to fight it for a little bit until I got an email from a close friend explaining her simultaneous overwhelm/love of life.  It was all I needed to get a little perspective. One day I can’t even handle being a real person and the next day I’m be so in love with life that I want to cry into my coffee. I’m just doing my best to go with it for now because something tells me getting through this time will lead to something wonderful.

But let’s get back to right now. It’s 82 degrees and sunny here in San Diego. I’m actually writing to you from the beach. I might be the luckiest girl in the world, full up with gratitude.

Ugh. Those words feel like a big fat lie.

I should feel that way but I don’t feel very lucky right now. I feel like my life is a fat, messy, ugly, walking contradiction. What is up with that? I know I have sat right here in this spot before and felt truly lucky and so grateful I would forget to breathe. So why should today be different? I am determined to be this way even when all else disagrees. That is when it’s the most important. I have to be the luckiest especially when I feel like a loser. I must be grateful and say thank you when it is most difficult to do so. Like when I have a dream job but still feel unappreciated sometimes. When I finally find a beautiful place to live that feels like home but my neighbor turns out to be a crazy mother f-er. Or when I’m constantly being asked for health advice by people around me but I can’t remember a time when I felt worse in my own body than I do right now. When it takes me 30 years to meet a man whose kisses feel like magic but he just happens to be divorced with four kids. When there is still so much I want to do and see and feel and experience that I feel like I’ll just never get to. And when the only thing that scares me more than not getting everything I want is actually getting everything I want.

All minor details…right?

We have our work cut out for us here. This shit is hard. My neighbor tells me I work too much. Probably because my honest response to any question about what I’m doing in the past, present or future usually involves me saying I have work to do. Because THERE IS ALWAYS WORK TO DO. I have my job work. I have my coaching work. I have my personal development work. I have my writing work. Swinging in my hammock work. Drinking coffee at the beach work.

Work, work, work.

“Work.”

Listen. This isn’t work. This is my LIFE. That means I work just the right amount. Sometimes I get tired. So I take a break. Sometimes I get inspired. So I work even harder.  I don’t care if you do more work than me or less work. This isn’t a competition. I don’t care if your work looks different than mine. I don’t care if I call something work that you wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter at all because I’m not going to stop. Ever. I don’t even have plans to slow down. I want to speed up. I want to do more. Once you get a tiny little taste of what “lucky” really feels like, when you are so completely grateful that you feel infinite and invincible? There is no fucking way you can stop.

So let’s not make excuses about why something is or isn’t the way it is anymore. I’m experiencing all those things I don’t like right now but they don’t define who I am. They don’t even have to mean anything if I don’t want them to. Why would I let them stop me? Once you decide that something has no power over you, you get to do anything you want to do and feel anything you want to feel.

“There are soul-justified reasons to cancel. There are times to stop. This isn’t one of them. Keep going. Decide to be one of those people who pulls it off. Do what you say you’re going to do. Don’t let us down. Decide to rise.”  

– Danielle Laporte

 March 27, 2015
Feb 102015
 

Dang, 2015. You sure are throwin’ me for a loop. You aren’t turning out at all as I thought you would. Luckily, we have plenty of time to get this thing in check, get this thing in gear, get this thing warmed up (I’m f-ing freezing, San Diego!) and get this thing going, please.

You know when you’re really looking forward to something so much that it feels like it will never ever actually get here?  It’s been a little over 3 years since the day I walked out of my old apartment for the last time. I never could have imagined all that would happen for me over the next few years. I never could have imagined what would happen over the last year or even the last month for that matter. It is surreal how it all happens. When I moved back to San Diego, I had these beautiful dreams of walking into town and finding a place just like my old one. Instead, I found myself couch surfing for weeks until I finally surrendered myself to a roommate situation that was able to redeem itself only by being less than a block from the beach. I ended up living there until a few weeks ago, which turned out to be several months after I was ready to move out. There were days I thought I was doomed to live in that house forever. Twelve days after one of those doomy days, I was signing a new lease and picking up the keys to my own place. I thought it would never happen but here I am.

It never feels the way you think it would, does it? I love my new little corner of the world. I knew it was right the moment I saw it. Unfortunately, it takes some time to get settled in. Everything is so disorganized. My normal routine is non-existent. I don’t have a place for each thing or a thing for each place. There isn’t enough space for my clothes. There is too much clothes for my space. Half the time I don’t even know where to sit. The disorganization somehow trickles into the rest of life and I can’t seem to shake it. I like organization and routine. I like every thing in its place. I like lots of places to sit.

So while I sit on the floor waiting for my new furniture, I’ll drink my anti-anxiety-tea and wonder what is happening. Did you forget already, 2015? I told you what we wanted.

We wanted to be open and free. Curled in a ball under the covers is certainly not what I had in mind. I don’t really associate my freedom with thick socks and layers of sweaters and feeling chained to my warm cozy bed. Oof. Why does each winter always seem longer than the one before? I know what you’re thinking. I live in San Diego. I’m not allowed to complain about winter. I say…yes, I am. I’m allowed to complain about winter.  A model is allowed to have an ugly day.  A skinny girl is allowed to feel bad about her body. It is cold. It is dark. It is winter. It makes me sad and somber and I want it gone. A few more weeks until daylight savings. I’m giving you a pass until then, 2015.

And what about that connected, excited, romantic part, 2015? I can almost hear the heavens laughing at me from here. I was stood up a few weeks ago. How is that for connection and romance? I was pretty pissed at first. Did you also forget your manners, 2015? The guy didn’t even apologize but thought it appropriate to ask me out twice after that. I almost said yes the second time. I wanted to. Then I decided that being bored or lonely isn’t a good enough reason to lower my standards. It certainly isn’t a reason to accept an invitation to dinner from someone that stood me up without good cause. Maybe you think he should get another chance. Maybe this is why I’m still single. Maybe you think my standards are too high. But right now I think that if ignoring him means my standards are too high then I prefer to be alone.

I wonder if the guy that I want will ever be the guy that I actually like. And I wonder if the guy that I like will never be the guy that I need.  Do people just pick one of those things and forget about all the rest? Is it easy and simple and mutual for everyone but me? Maybe people settle more than they actually find the type of person they’ve been looking for.  How do you go about finding this person and protecting yourself from assholes at the same time? How do you know when you’re being the asshole versus when you’re just putting your own needs first? And how do you know when you’re putting yourself first or putting up a wall? I am missing something here. Something about the world around me. Something about myself.  I want to know the answers to these questions. For the love of love 2015, we’re totally blowing this one.

And remember when we wanted to feel infinite? Like we could go on forever and be anything and do anything and have anything and everything we wanted and that our time and life was limitless and couldn’t be measured by any person or any thing? I want to learn so much and do it all. It doesn’t feel infinite. It feels like too much. Every minute I spend on one topic is a minute I can’t spend on another. I can’t read a book on money unless I’m not reading a book on relationships. I can’t read a book on health unless I’m not reading a book about money. I can’t write a blog here if I’m writing a match.com profile over there.

I’m not writing a match.com profile by the way. I just can’t bring myself to do it yet.

So what’s a girl to do? How can I ever expect to have more than one thing at a time? How can anyone? We make time for the things that are important, but what if they are all so important to you that your heart cries and aches when you feel like you aren’t doing enough, but don’t know how you can possibly do any more? My solution for this is usually to:

Do nothing. See “curled in a ball under covers” above.

Cry. Sometimes all I need is a really good cry but I’ll be too stubborn to cry hard enough to even make it count. Other times, I’ll be in the most inconvenient of places and have to the urge to let it all out. That girl walking down the pier with mascara running out from underneath her sunglasses? Yeah, probably me. That other girl sulking and lost in front of the empty bin where the organic baby spinach is supposed to be? Me again. The other one sobbing uncontrollably in the car next to you at the stop light? Yes, that was me too.

As you can see, “do nothing” is clearly the better option of two terrible options.

What if I’m one of the weak ones? When I did social work, I had a teen girl that was in foster care because she found her drug addicted mother dead in a cardboard box in her front yard. I worked with another girl who was put into a group home and was molested by one of the staff members there. I had another kid who was one of the best looking, most charming young men I’ve ever met in my entire life and his past was worse than A Child Called It.  I know one person’s life problems can’t be related or compared to another person’s. But seriously, what if I’m one of the weak ones? My life is blessed but still I can’t seem to move forward.  I can’t calm down my ego or stop drinking or lose the extra pounds I’m carrying around or be as successful and rich as I want to be, as fast as I want? I need another option here.

Grow up and get the fuck over it. There is absolutely no reason why you can’t have it all. 

So, 2015. You’re nothing like I thought you would be…yet. I think you’re doing the right thing, though. What better way to start the year than with a big huge bitch slap? It’s not you, 2015. It’s me. I guess I was the one who forgot, huh? I won’t be doing that again. Even through this odd, uncomfortable, nowhere-to-sit beginning of the year, I’ve always felt like the universe had my back.  I have faith that we’re gonna pull this thing together, 2015. It sounds like a much better way to go.

 February 10, 2015
Jan 012015
 

It’s time to say goodbye again already.

Goodbye, 2014. You were a beautiful year. I knew you would be.

I didn’t go out last night. Not a single sip of alcohol passed these lips. If 2014 was beautiful then no hangover on the first day of 2015 is fucking gorgeous. Isn’t it such a backwards way of doing things? People are so hyped on resolutions and having a clean slate on January 1st. Why do we always choose to start with a hangover? I can have a hangover on any day. It’s nice to start my new year in a way that actually sets the tone for the kind of year I’d like to have. I like not making a huge deal of the new year. This is no clean slate or reset after all. No do-overs, no erasing the past. No major difference between any other two consecutive days. The last day of one year and the first day of the next year. There is no benefit in pretending that life and time isn’t just one long continuous …thing.

The end of the year always brings mixed feelings for me. Part of me loves the Christmas season. The other part of me feels so completely lonely and empty leading up to the holidays that it physically hurts. I sleep late, binge watch Netflix, and consume everything in sight to try and fill some void that I can’t even define. I start to get sucked into the resolution bullshit. Instead of focusing on all the amazing things that happened, I get stuck thinking about all that could and should have happened for me. I thought it would be the year I found love. It wasn’t. I thought it would be the year I got back into shape. It wasn’t. I thought I would get my own place and travel again. I didn’t. I thought it would be the year I wrote a book and paid off my debt. It kind of was. It also kind of wasn’t. I spend the days thinking about all that wasn’t or didn’t, wishing the time away until I go back east to see my family. Because I know a hug from my family will be just what I need. I also know that it will fly by in a blur and the sooner it is over, the sooner I get to sit alone and be quiet and think about my life and write. This is the time that makes all that hurting go away. This is the time I get to write about it all. This is the time I get to think about all the good that has happened this year.  I think about how I imagined this year was going to be compared to how it really turned out. I think about where I was and who I was on December 31, 2013. I go back and forth between feeling complete awe, complete pain, and complete gratitude. This time is the best time for me.

So what even happened in 2014?

I wrote my 100th post. I was fired. I went to the beach – a lot. I watched my sister get married. I was hired. I read a lot of books. I watched a lot of sunsets. I had a lot of fun. I made a bunch of mistakes. I made lot of good decisions, too.

According to my last new year’s post, I was hoping to spend the year feeling grateful, lusty, free, calm, strong, connected, abundant, fearless. I think I lived that most of the time. At the very least I was living them more by the end of the year than I was at the beginning.

Now I want to feel this: Open. Free. Connected. Excited. Romantic. Infinite.

The words are funny. Some are the same. Plus one year. Just a little more grown up. All quite doable.

I don’t have too much more to say. I have a feeling that 2015 will be a great year. Why wouldn’t it be? They really do keep getting better. I have so many plans. I’ll do more of the things I want to do more of, and less of the things I want to do less of. Can it get more simple than that? More writing, more reading, more sunsets, more new things, more movement, more nutrition, more family, more life.

I still just want more of this beautiful life. I don’t think that will ever change.

 January 1, 2015
Dec 222014
 

Finally. someone understands. I swear R.M. Drake reads my diary at night.

She was never crazy. She just didn’t want her heart to settle in a cage.   -R.M Drake

OK…I don’t really keep a diary. This blog is my diary. But:photo-2

Maybe we feel empty because we leave pieces of ourselves in  everything we used to love. -R.M. Drake

Wow. Then:

And she always had a way with her brokenness. She would take her pieces and make them beautiful.  – R.M. Drake

Most of all:

Listen, I am not someone who is easy to love. I am not someone who is to be taken lightly and most of all, I am not someone to burn. For I am the fire, my soul is on fire and everything I live to touch becomes one with the fire…and without regret, I will devour and I will leave nothing behind. –R.M. Drake

Because really:

For sometimes, knowing nothing lasts forever, is the only way we can learn to fall in love with all the moments and all the people that are meant to take our breath away. – R.M. Drake

I mean, really. Are you kidding me? I love all of these words so much. There is something so special about reading something that someone else wrote and feeling like they wrote it directly to you. It is a tiny bit of proof that we are connected. We are all having the same struggles and thoughts and feelings. And really, what does a person want more than to be understood? Or to feel that they are not alone? Knowing that another person–stranger or not–understands how you feel and can put it into words is an odd comfort to me in this very strange, (sometimes) lonely world. So thank you to this beautiful poet for making the lonely just a little bit less. I only hope to do this for someone one day.

 December 22, 2014