Apr 262016
 

My friend’s wife was knocking on the bathroom door. I don’t know how long I’d been locked inside. All I know is that it had been long enough to warrant a door knock from a woman I barely knew.

I’d been staring in the mirror, talking to myself.

“What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?”

I asked myself over and over again out loud. I wonder if they could hear me? I couldn’t stop staring myself in the eyes, asking.

“What are you doing? What are you doing?”

I didn’t know what the hell I was doing there, and I was determined to figure it out. I stared at myself in the mirror and asked myself. I didn’t have an answer yet, so I just kept asking. It was late, long after last call. I looked beautiful and totally partied out, so drunk and confused and sad and that special kind of lonely you feel when you’re in a room full of people. Everyone else knew what they were doing there. I knew how I got there. I knew what everyone else was doing there. I knew that I didn’t want to be there, doing what I was doing.

“What are you doing?”

Sometimes, you just gotta ask. We’ve all been there. Well, I hope we have. If I’m the only one that has ever asked, “Why did I do that,” or “What are you doing,” or “ugh, what’s wrong with me?!” my problem might be bigger than I thought.

Your favorite self-help guru would try to comfort me by saying there isn’t such thing as a wrong decision or mistake. They’d say that we’re all doing the best we can, with the information we have, with the thoughts we believed at the time. If you knew better, or could have done better, you would have. That’s all great, and pretty accurate in my experience, but it does little to comfort a person in the moments after they’ve decided and are living with a decision they aren’t sure about, finding themselves not having a clue what they did or how they got there.

And then, what about when somebody else decides these things for you?

Maybe someone breaks up with you out of the blue. You don’t get picked for the job. Your crush doesn’t call. You get fired without any warning. You walk out of the store into the parking lot to find your bumper crushed into your trunk. Your best friend decides to move to the other side of the country. Somebody you thought would be around forever gets sick or dies.

That’s when I stop asking and start shouting, “Hey, nobody asked me if I wanted any of this. Why didn’t anybody ask me?!”

Just kidding. (Kind of.)

I take full responsibility for my decisions and attitude as much as I can, but it’s not always fun and almost never easy. Especially because I don’t always even know why I make the decisions that I do. The bathroom incident happened a few years ago. I hadn’t even thought about it until the other night when I found myself in a similar situation, and can’t remember having been in a similar situation since that time many years ago. I’d say that’s a pretty good track record for finding yourself in yucky situations that your own decisions put you in.

Twice in five years? Damn, that’s winning!

But when it’s me, I beat myself up all over town for days having some sort of existential crisis about who I am and about what I’m doing with my whole life and about how everything I’ve accomplished is silly and completely wasted because of things I did or said, or didn’t do or didn’t say, or what other people think, or who so-and-so thinks I am after one night of a little too much fun.

Stop, Katey. Just stop.

Maybe we need those moments.

The ones where we have no clue who we are or what we’re doing. The moments when you do something that is just so not you. Or maybe it’s who you were at one time, but not anymore. We need those moments to remind us of how far we’ve come, to ground us in the fact that we aren’t invincible or perfect. We need them to prove that we’re all doing the best we can, but that we can also always do a little bit better. We need these moments to remind us of the type of person we don’t want to be so that we can become the best version of ourself.

And the best part is? You get to decide from one moment to the next who you are. If who you are in this moment doesn’t match up with who you want to be in the next, you get to change it. Even if it’s one of those somebody-else-decided, out-of-your-control moments, at the very least you get to choose how you feel about it and how you’re going to be from each moment forward.

As for me, well, I can’t promise that I’ll never have “too much fun” again. But I can promise that I’ll be nicer to myself if it happens. That way, if I do find myself staring at in the mirror again, I’ll love the girl I see for doing everything she can to do better and be better in each next moment.



 April 26, 2016
Mar 132016
 

I keep waking  up in the middle of the night with no clue where I am while my heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest.

This is surely a symptom of a two week solo backpacking trip to the Dominican Republic. It’s been almost a week since I got home. I’m extremely passionate about getting a good night’s sleep so I hope this symptom resolves itself soon.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: travel–solo travel, specifically–is the biggest and best shortcut that exists for personal growth and self-awareness. I get that travel is not for everyone. To be honest, I don’t know if travel is really for anyone.

That’s the point.

Traveling alone to a foreign land you’ve never been before where they don’t speak your language sounds almost ridiculous on paper. It sounds like a romantic and exciting adventure to bring only yourself and a backpack to a place where nobody knows you and anything could happen. It is definitely both of those things. It’s also a lot of other things, too.

It’s turning a quick 3-4 hour bus ride turned into a 12 hour mess that included one overpriced taxi, one missed bus, one wrong bus that broke down, one wrong bus that dropped me off on the side of the freeway, another taxi, one right bus, and one moto ride from a kind stranger to get me to my hotel. It’s drinking rum and eating grilled lobster on an island in the middle of the carribean sea.

It’s getting stared at and whispered about because you’re the only white girl for miles. It’s misunderstandings and miscommunications and never really knowing for sure if you understand or if you’re being understood. It’s meal after meal alone, and always with a prayer that you’ll actually get what you ordered and that it won’t make you sick. It’s sunburns and bug bites and wearing the same dirty clothes for two weeks. It’s paying extra for a special car to get to your friend’s wedding early, and being told that it starts at 4pm in the church when the wedding actually starts at 5pm on the beach.

It’s completely trusting strangers with your life because you have no other choice, and because the only way to know if you can trust someone is to trust them. It’s completely trusting yourself and your gut to keep you safe.

These things happen, and then something else happens. You find yourself in a moment, completely in awe of where you are and what you’re doing. It is beautiful. You are grateful. You also might be crying.

You know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you can go anywhere and do anything and be anyone you want to be.



 March 13, 2016
Feb 032016
 

There’s something I want you to know about me:

I’m not afraid of the dark.

Not anymore, anyways.

I used to be afraid of the dark. Very afraid. I’ll tell you why in a minute, but first I’m going to tell you what I mean by “the dark.”

I don’t mean the sleepy time dark. This isn’t about turning out the light and then taking a running leap onto your bed so the monsters underneath can’t grab your ankles. I don’t mean the planet earth dark. This isn’t about the sun going down, or the blackness of a new moon, or how creepy and still it gets during the dead hours of the night. Dark isn’t a hair color or a skin color or a type of coffee.

The dark I’m talking about? It’s a part of me. It’s a part of you. It’s a part of us.

I know what some of you are thinking. Some of you are thinking that you don’t have that dark side. You’ve done all the work to get rid of your dark, or you were raised right, or born all good and light inside. Dark is for criminals or deadbeats and losers. You’re one of the normal, healthy, smart, successful, optimistic, happy, or always-look-on-the-bright-side-of-things type of people.

Guess what? Me, too.

I would use all of those words to describe myself. And right now, I am happier and more proud of my life than I have ever been. I move closer to my personal goals and vision of success almost every day. I spend most of my time doing exactly what I want to do, and most of the time I feel the way I want to feel. I’ve been called sweet, strong, fearless, special, inspirational, and radiant before. I believe that I am all of those “good” things.

I have also been called reckless, dark (most recently after my last post), crazy, lazy, scary, mentally unstable, stubborn, intimidating, the devil–by my mother!–and a bitch more times than I’d like to admit. I can be all of those things, too. 

Dark and light. I have both. I want both.

Parts of me are dark. Other parts of me are light. Some are serious and raw and deep and ugly and they hurt. Some are bright and airy and silly and they feel good. I love all these parts. I have to love them all because really, one doesn’t exist without the other. All the parts exist for a reason. All the parts have a purpose. All the parts need love. All the parts need recognition. I don’t have to hate any part of myself in order to love an opposing part. I don’t have to hide one part of me in order to show another. I don’t have to choose to be this or that, because I am this AND that.

This means that I love the simple joys of this life while feeling burdened by the complexities of who I am and why I’m here. I live in constant awe of the beauty of the universe and am in full awareness of the world’s suffering–mine included–all at the same time. I walk around with a genuine smile on my face while still processing the pain of a broken heart. I know about the chaos and troubles happening in my own neighborhood and still feel safe at night in my bed. I can live in complete gratitude for who I am and what I have, and still want to be more and have more. I can fully give in to really awful, uncomfortable feelings and thoughts with complete confidence that it won’t kill me and I will make it out the other side.

Here’s the thing, dear reader. I feel very deeply in all directions and always have. I am a very private person, but want so much to wear my heart on my sleeve. I spent my childhood being told I was too sensitive, which is probably one of the reasons it’s so hard for me to let other people in and why my throat chakra is consistently blocked. I can’t always say the things I want to say, and so I write. I write everything that is inside of me because I want to be free. I want to be seen. I want people to know me. All of me. Dark sides, light sides, and everything in between. It may be too much at times, but my words are on purpose. These words are my truth. These words make me whole.

I used to be afraid of the dark. I spent years hating my dark. I didn’t want anyone to see it or know it was there. I tried to hide it, cover it up, push it down, run from it, and make it go away. I lived in constant fear of being found out or abandoned or judged. As a result, I ended up lost and far, far away from everything I wanted. All things light and seemingly good were just out of reach until I started paying attention to this dark. I started observing it. I started asking it questions. I started loving it. I started showing it compassion. I started showing it here on this blog to let others know that their dark is OK, too. And now?

I am a better writer. I am a better person. I am a better soul.

I am just…better.

No, I’m not afraid of the dark anymore. It’s OK if you are, and I hope one day you won’t be. I know it can be hard to see but the dark is beautiful, too.

“It is by embracing all of who we are that we can earn the freedom to choose what we do in this world.”       Debbie Ford

A handful of books have changed my life. One of them is The Dark Side of the Light Chasers by Debbie Ford. It is a big reason why this post exists and should be required reading before you’re allowed to be an adult. (Side note: At age 31, I’m still not an actual adult and don’t know if I’ve ever met one.) If you haven’t read it, please read it.

 



 February 3, 2016
Jan 312016
 

IMG_9124I’m sitting at the end of the Ocean Beach pier, writing, listening to music in the dark. I’ve been to the other side of the world and back, and this is still one of my favorite places to be. Being able to walk here from my house is humbling and ridiculous and not real all at the same time.

I’ve been to the end of this pier a million times before. It always feels different at night. A little bit scary. A little bit exciting. Still, I feel safe here. Tonight, I’ve had a bit of wine and the surf is so big that I can feel the pier rocking back an forth. A surge of nausea moves through me every few minutes and I kind of like it.

It’s gloomy and dark and quiet enough that it feels like anything could happen. A rogue wave could come in at any second and wash me away. Lightning could strike, or a plane coming in could crash in the water right in front of me. My mermaid fairy godmother could swim up to the surface below me and call out my name, or a giant sea monster could swallow the pier up whole. A stranger could run up behind me and throw me over the railing into the freezing Pacific or slit my throat with a knife or ask me for help or tell me he thinks I’m the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

Yes, these are the things I think about when I’m alone in the dark at the end of the pier. I’m sharing my premonitions here as a sort of insurance policy. Isn’t that how it works? Once you share your fears or say them out loud they can’t ever happen. It’s like making a wish on your birthday and then blowing out the candles. If you tell someone your birthday wish it can’t come true. So, I’m telling you the strange thoughts that cross my imagination. I don’t want any of those things to happen. Well, maybe the stranger telling me I’m beautiful is OK–as long as he was single and moderately handsome with good intentions. But that mermaid fairy godmother thing? I’m pretty sure even that would freak me out.

Do you see what I’m dealing with up in my mind? I don’t want it to go there, but it goes there. I can’t stop it.

The San Diego winter gloom might finally be getting to me. The end of year high I was feeling might be wearing off. I’m back to work and I love it. But something is missing. I still don’t know what it is. My mind is going crazy. I’m going crazy.

I think I’m bored. Ugh, I hate that word. It takes me back to my childhood when my mother would say “only boring people get bored” or tell me to “use my imagination.” (I love you, Mom!)

But…I’m bored and try everything I know to not be bored. I feel nothing, so I do anything I know to make me feel things. I sit at the end of the pier thinking about how I’ll survive that rogue wave and save all those plane crash victims. I walk around at night with headphones blasting Fetty Wap into my ears so my other senses are on high to anything going on around me. I watch Grey’s Anatomy reruns because I know it will make me cry. I push my body until I’m in physical pain. I throw money around until I’m stressed about paying rent. I eat sugar until my stomach hurts. I go out with boys I don’t like. I daydream for hours about the boys that will never ask me out. I drink wine and vodka until it’s time to go to bed, and then it’s finally tomorrow and I get to start over again and be one day closer to having it all figured out and be one day closer to the day that I feel something again.

I do all of it. Because feeling anything is almost always better than feeling nothing. And there’s nothing worse than feeling nothing until you get to the point where even feeling nothing starts to hurt.

It’s OK, guys. I’m not worried. I’ve been worried about myself before, but not this time.

Because this time I know that the feeling part is coming. I know that sometimes feeling bad is better than feeling nothing. I also know that feeling nothing isn’t always bad. And I know that feeling nothing once in a while doesn’t  mean that there’s something wrong with me.

And I know that most of the time…feeling bad or feeling nothing?

Is what comes right before you feel better than you ever thought possible.



 January 31, 2016
Jan 262016
 

“She has it all,” I told him.

I really think she does. I had just spent days studying this amazing woman. She is hot. Rich. Likable, well-known and respected. Funny, smart. Extremely generous with her time and money. In a solid relationship. Owns a successful business. The list could go on. She has worked for all of it. She deserves all of it. My favorite part is she never ever seems to take it for granted. Most of me loves her. Part of me wants to be her. Part of me wonders why I’m not my own version of her yet. The last part of me wonders if there are women out there that ever look at me and think that I’m the one that has everything.

“Nobody has it all,” he said.

I appreciated the effort to make me feel better.

“Yeah. I know.” I said. I didn’t believe it, though.

I felt deflated when I should have felt inspired. I felt like a failure when I should have felt more motivated than ever. I wanted to be proud of this woman. I wanted to see her as proof that a woman not that different from me really can have it all. Instead, I wanted to be anyone that seems to have the things I want. I wanted to be everyone that appears to be the anything I so want to be. I wanted to be anyone but myself, negative self-talking myself into a black hole about why I’m not further along in any and all areas of my life. Yuck.

I think we’ve all read about why we–women in particular–fall into this comparison trap. I’m not here to talk about society’s influences and pressures and bias. It’s all very interesting and valid. But I don’t care about it all that much. Why this happens doesn’t matter to me. Society isn’t going to completely change anytime soon. All we’re left with to completely change is ourselves. Unfortunately, my stubborn self was pretty intent on staying completely sorry for myself for the time being.

As I wallowed in self-pity, I picked up my phone to distract myself and scrolled through my camera roll. I came across a picture I took several weeks ago:

1172334_577059402459510_1267653055_n

I had to laugh at how perfect it was.

“Another woman’s beauty is not the absence of your own.”

It was the reminder that I so needed.

That I am exactly where I am supposed to be. That everyone else is, too. That we don’t need to down the best parts of ourselves for fear of outshining others. That there is enough for everyone. That there is room for more. That we can all have it all.

And that no amount of beauty or happiness or riches another has can take away the power you have to love yourself. 



 January 26, 2016
Dec 302015
 

Bye-bye, 2015.

I don’t even know why I come to the coffee shop to write. I always end up with tears in my eyes and then I’m that girl that’s crying at the coffee shop. I guess if I really cared about being the girl who cries at the coffee shop I’d relocate. Instead I like it a little bit when people catch me crying. I wipe my cheek and half-smile to let them know I’m OK. I hope they also know it means they can cry at the coffee shop if they want to, too.

It’s the second to last day of the year and I am feeling it for sure. Reading all my old new year’s posts here, here and here before I write the next one is always the best. This time is no different. This year sure got off to a rocky start. Now we’re a day away from 2016 and my life is almost unrecognizable. So what changed my life this year?

Moving back into my own place. Taking email off my cell phone. Buying another FitBit. Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic. My job. My boss. This Ted talk. Growing my own flowers and my own food. Getting my 11 year old neighbor to like me. Painting more. Reading more. Finally letting go of the boy who broke me. Tinder, of all places, reminding me that there are guys out there. Practicing gratitude every single day. Making two super big and scary  investments in myself before knowing how I would pay for them (I was worth it.) Saying no when I wanted to without apologizing for it. Taking a much needed break without apologizing for it. Being honest about my feelings without apologizing for it.

And a silly little electric wood stove.

As for 2016, nothing will really change. I want to learn how to stop taking myself so seriously. I want to learn to fall in love without losing myself. I want to connect more with the people I love. Travel more. Read more. Write more. Dance more. Eat delicious healthy food more. Drink good wine more. Create more stuff. Trust the Universe more. Become myself more. Love myself more. Live in the moment more, always remembering that the best is yet to come.

And yes, this year was once again better than the last. And yes, all I still want is more and more of this beautiful life.



 December 30, 2015
Dec 152015
 

I won’t even try to pretend that I’ll get more than one post out before the end of the year. Once I take off on a plane to the east coast productivity is highly unlikely.

Usually by this time of year I am doing everything I can to stop myself from curling up into a ball under the covers and not getting up until Spring. Not this time. This year is different. I’m different. Me, in my life right now? I can’t remember a time when I felt more grateful, more at peace, more beautiful, or more excited about the future. That’s saying a lot.

Don’t get me wrong. Life is never perfect over here. There is still a monster list of everything I want to do, be, see, have, and feel. This is about wanting it all, but knowing when it’s time for content and gratitude so that you don’t need a damn thing.

So how did I get here? Did I wake up on a cloud puff of appreciation and peace one morning?

Hell no, but that sure sounds nice now that I’m thinking about it.

A few months ago I did some one on one work with a well-known, long-adored, not cheap, women’s coach that I’d been wanting to work with for a while. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the experience and came out of it feeling a little…well, meh.  A couple months before that, I completed a different, very intense coaching program that ended in certification. I was super proud, but a little “meh” then, too. Like, that’s it? Now what do I do?

Shouldn’t I have some sort of incredible drive and motivation to make all my dreams come true?

Shouldn’t everything I worked on, through, and over a million times during the last 9 months be totally healed and fixed and awesome?

Shouldn’t I just have all the answers rightfreakingnow?

Shouldn’t I feel completely different?

I didn’t. I wasn’t even close to any of those. Honestly? I didn’t even want any of those in hindsight. Hiring a coach was my last-ditch effort at getting to those things. Why? Because I thought it was what I was supposed to be doing. In reality, I was so burnt out and sick of self-development and trying and problem-solving and “taking action” and setting intentions and making a plan and self-help blah, blah, blah.

I was so tired. Tired of self-help books and blogs and podcasts. Tired of putting pressure on myself. Tired of beating myself up for anything and everything. It felt like I was trying to prove something but I didn’t know what it was, I had no clue who I was trying to prove it to, and nobody was even looking. Ugh.

I hung in this weird place for a few weeks until I had a follow up call with my coach. As I was trying to explain what I was going through, I finally realized that what I wanted most, more than any other thing I’d been working towards all year, all my life, even?

Was to not feel bad about anything anymore.

I was completely stuck in the feeling. Paralyzed, even. I couldn’t take action because I was so busy berating myself nonstop about why I wasn’t taking action yet. I didn’t want to beat myself up about it anymore. I didn’t want to put any pressure on myself to “do something.” I didn’t want to answer any more questions. I didn’t want to analyze. I didn’t want to read or write or listen or grow or study or talk. I just wanted to rest. I just NEEDED to rest.

And I forgot one very important thing.

I forgot that change doesn’t happen that way. Sometimes it does, but most of the time it doesn’t. People change one teeny, tiny bit at a time. Letting go of one little piece here. Picking up another little part there. Choosing something new instead the same old thing. Speaking up for themselves when they never would have said something before. Pushing themselves when they would normally take a break or give up. Taking a much needed rest when they would normally push themselves over the edge.

This is how transformation happens, and this is what has happened to me this year. Little tiny shifts and practices will turn you into a completely different person without having to remember to be different. This year took me from:

From negative self-talk and obsessing over faults to complete self-care.

From running away from what scares me to running away from things that no longer serve me.

From trying to escape to trying to figure out what and why I want to escape.

From believing my thoughts to observing my thoughts.

From expecting the bad to trusting the good.

From choosing comfort to choosing uncertainty.

From self-judgement to forgiving myself for my past.

From feeling bad? To feeling at peace.

I always knew I could do it. I knew I could get there. Turns out I was just distracting myself from the fact that I was already there. Silly, Katey.



 December 15, 2015
Dec 042015
 

I think about when I was moving to Thailand and got rid of all my stuff. I was at my bar drinking and watching football when a nice boy offered to refill my beer cup from his pitcher. Who can resist an offer like that? I don’t remember his name, but I’m 98% sure it was some generic boy name like Matt or Mike. We hung out a few times before I moved and I gave him my leopard print Snuggie. I haven’t seen him since. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. Would I even recognize him? Would he offer to give me the Snuggie back? Would it be wrong to ask? Those few months before I moved was such a weird and fun time in my life.

I also think about all the homeless people in this town. They rarely bother me and often even give me compliments. I’ll never forget one older man who asked me for money. I was on my way to the coffee stand with a $5 bill. I didn’t respond the first time walking by, butt gave him the change from my coffee on my way back. He was so sincerely thankful. He smiled and waved every time I’ve seen him after that. He’s never asked me for money again.

There was another woman who walked by while I was spraying for ants around the fence in the alley. You really never know what you’re going to get when you say hello. She told me that she was trying to find someone to watch her dog. She had just found out that her mother had died and she had to get to Nevada. I don’t know if it was true or not. What I do know is in that moment she was genuinely heartbroken and didn’t want for anything except for someone to talk to.

I walked by a different group a few days later on my morning walk. They said, “Good Morning,” so I said, “Morning” back. One of them responded with a big, “Thank you. I’ve been saying good morning to people for 30 minutes and you’re the first to say it back.”

There’s only a few that have ever made me uncomfortable. One guy I see regularly always gives me the grossest stare and an even worse vibe. He asked me if he could walk me home once. I said, “No.” He started to taunt me asking for reasons why. The last thing I heard him say was, “That’s right! Because you can’t think of a reason!” Oh, really? I can’t? There’s all the regular reasons–I’m not even on my way home, you’re a complete stranger, I don’t want you to know where I live, it’s the middle of the afternoon and I don’t need an escort. The first reason to run through my mind, though, was that he always looks at me like a fucking creep that wants to rape and murder me.

A disturbing thought like this lingers for a bit. I start to think that I’m a bad person for thinking it, and why did I have to decide to walk down this street right now? Then I wish I said it out loud to him so maybe he stops looking at women like that. Then I want to scream it so everyone on the block can hear. Then I think that maybe I’m a racist because this guy just happens to be black. Then I wish that I was ugly or morbidly obese and disgusting so men would never look at me again.

Then I think about which will be the best way to walk when I actually am on my way home so that I don’t run into him again. Now I’m crying about the whole situation and feel like I need a shower.

I’m thinking about why I can never turn down a free drink. Even if I don’t need it, even if I’m on my way out the door. Am I an alcoholic or am I just really, really nice? (Don’t answer that, please.) Also, why do people buy complete strangers drinks? It never crosses my mind to do so and is kind of always a surprise when someone offers. I rarely even offer to buy my friends drinks. Does that make me a bad person? (Don’t answer that, either.) Is there a special type of person that buys a complete stranger drinks? I wish there was a better system. For example, when someone offers to buy me a drink I would like to be allowed to say, “Sure, I had a vodka last Thursday. It was three bucks and I left two for a tip,” and then they give me a $5 bill.

I think about how good it feels to appreciate and love something you don’t have. I ran into a friend who used to be more than a friend. Of all the men from my past he will always be the most beautiful and one of my favorites. Our timing was always way off. He recently got married and when I asked him to remind me of his wife’s name he said “Kate” by mistake. It took my breath away for a second because that is my name and not his wife’s name. I know it didn’t mean anything, but I loved him so much in that moment. I loved who we both were and who we both are now. I loved that we never worked. I loved that we can talk about it. I loved that he found someone to love and marry. I loved that I don’t have him or anyone else in my life like that, but knowing that I could and having gratitude for it before it even happens is one of the first steps to getting there.



 December 4, 2015
Nov 122015
 

Today was just a day.

Mostly like any other day. I woke up at 6:30 a.m. I hit the snooze out of habit, even though I rarely if ever stay in bed until the snooze is up. I closed my eyes for another minute or two. I checked the temp to prepare for my morning walk–46 degrees. Ouch. Not looking forward to that in my face.

A pain in my side is back. I decided to give it a week to go away. It was unnoticeable on Tuesday. Of course, I had to have two glasses of wine last night and it’s back with a vengeance. I need to go to the doctor.

I got up and took a swig of coconut oil. I’ve been pulling oil almost everyday for months now. Minimum, 20 minutes. Sometimes I’ll get lost in an activity or book or The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon and go 30 or 40 minutes. I don’t know if it’s helping, but it’s definitely not hurting and I like the ritual so I’m going to keep doing it.

I juiced while I oiled. Beet, apple, carrot, ginger, lacinto kale and green chard. I add coconut water at the end to cut the dirt taste of the beet. It still tasted like dirt a little but tasted good and healthy at the same time. I only drank a few sips of it this morning. I wanted the rest to sip on throughout the day. I put it in an old iced coffee cup to take to work. I was dawdling. I don’t want to go outside. I did an air check by stepping out the door and taking in a big breath. I swung my arms around a little to get an idea of how cold the air would be once I was moving. Cold.

I spit the oil into the toilet. I don’t ever rinse, I just brush. Flush and brush. I just came up with that and think I’ll call it that from now on. Brewed coffee for my walk, even though I’m so over coffee right now. It doesn’t really taste good anymore and makes my stomach feel weird but I can’t stop drinking it.

I went on my walk and didn’t get in nearly as many steps as I would have liked due to time constraints placed on myself by previously mentioned dawdling due to the previously mentioned temperature. I try to get at least 5,000 steps in before work. The air was cold but the sun was up and hot on my back, and I was layered up so was hot and cold at the same time. I hate that part of life this time of year.

A combo of the cold dry air and lazy curl job I did last night left me having an amazing hair day. Nothing will change your day for the better more than a good hair day. Does that make me sound shallow? Don’t care. It was beautiful and I loved it. It made me feel beautiful all over.

I hadn’t been to Sean’s in a week. I feel like we kind of needed a break so I was OK with it. Sometimes I get lonely working from home. But I think that’s better than being in a cubicle surrounded by coworkers you can’t stand. Amiright?? Me and Sean caught up, and I did some work until he got back from lunch and said I could finish the day at home. I tried to stick it out a little longer but the house filled with workers and another visitor, so I packed up and came home. Sometimes a break to come home refreshes me. Other times I lose all focus and motivation. Today was the latter.

I did some work, then put on last night’s Jimmy. I called the two doctors that I put on a note last week. The first didn’t have an appointment available until December 15th. My spleen will surely implode by then. The second didn’t take my insurance because I don’t work for a corporation. Um.. huh? Whatever. I guess I’ll be going to urgent care for this mystery blob that is seemingly growing under my rib cage. I’m a very intelligent, generally healthy person and it’s incredibly difficult, frustrating and intimidating figuring out how to go see a doctor. It’s unsettling to say the least.

I walked down to watch the sunset, which I haven’t done in a while. It was gorgeous. I took some pictures with the intent of posting them to Instagram, but the Insta just didn’t do it justice so I didn’t go through with it. When I got home I tried to work out but even Chalene couldn’t get me going. My knee was killing me and mystery side/rib pain blob had me worried. I had “dinner,” if you can even call it that.

I just finished Andy Cohen Diaries and started Theresa Caputo’s book. I’m on a crazy celebrity/non-celebrity celebrity thing. I listened to Leah Remini’s book – ugh, so good. I think I’m going to read David Spade’s next. A celebrity obsession is so not like me, but just looking at a self-help book kind of makes me want to puke right now. I’m so burnt out on it. I’m taking the rest of the year off. I’m allowed to read as many trashy books and watch as much TV and movies as I want and I’m not going to feel bad about it for one second.

If I keep having hair days like today, I don’t think I’ll feel bad about anything. It was a just a day. But it was a good day.



 November 12, 2015
Sep 162015
 

The Universe is protecting me again.

If you don’t remember my birthday gift from last year, you can read up here. My birthday is next week and I got another  present from the universe again today.

A few weeks ago, I texted my brother-in-law about potentially surprising my sister in New York. Me and my sister were born two days apart. Celebrating together was something that we’d come to love doing, but hadn’t been able to do in a while.

He never responded to my text.

I was confused at first. I  just sat on it, thinking he may have been scheming a way to bring up birthday plans with my sister without blowing my cover. While I was waiting, I saw an opportunity to attend a retreat with a woman that I’ve been following for a bit. I’d always wanted to work with her one-on-one but the investment was just too much for me right now. The retreat she was having was the same time as my potential New York trip and was a more reasonable money option. Since I hadn’t heard back from my big bro-in-law, I emailed her about attending. We spoke a few days later and she invited me to the retreat. I said yes and paid a deposit for something I still couldn’t really afford.

A few days later, I realized that my phone hadn’t sent or received any text messages from that day I texted big bro. Whoops.

Fast forward to this morning when I got a text letting me know there was some updates about my retreat weekend. I was curious. Was it cancelled? Moved? Free? (haha!)

The retreat host and me hopped on the phone an hour after the text. I was informed that I would be the only attendee.

Hi, Universe. Nice to see you again.

I would be receiving exactly what I wanted, without having to do anything. I would even pay less money than I had originally offered.

Do you ever think, “This is not my life?”

This is NOT my life. How did I get here? I am not here. This HAS to be somebody else’s life.

It’s as if every moment you live turns into something that you worked your entire life to create. You feel so worthy and deserving but so unready at the same time. You aren’t even sure how to receive it all yet but you do everything you can to open up and let it in as much as possible because you don’t want to lose the moment, the feeling, the momentum. Everything that doesn’t happen, is making space for something else that you absolutely need.

You’ve been waiting your whole entire life for it and there is no fucking way you’re going to lose it.

I was at the farmer’s market earlier watching people dance to the amazing one-man-band playing there. I couldn’t help but tear up. There is just something about my life lately that legitimately takes my breath away. Everything about the world was so perfect in that moment. I was so in that moment.

What is that?

“Being in gratitude for the not-yet manifested informs The Universe that you know that what you desire already exists and puts you at the right frequency to receive it.”

There it is. It already exists.

If you don’t have what you want yet, don’t give up. Don’t forget about it. If you really want it, it will come, and it will come in ways that you never thought or expected. You can’t plan it. You can’t decide how or when it will come. You can only decide that it will come. And the universe will deliver to you.

Every single time.



 September 16, 2015