Rachmaninoff and other loves

A guy on Tinder asked me if I had entrance music what would it be. 

And the first thing I thought was, Rachmaninoff's piano concerto number 2, movement 1.

Specifically this part in the music that's about 7 or 8 minutes in, depending on which recording you're listening to. 

It's actually my favorite piece of music. 

And then I thought, I don't think there's anyone in the world who would have known that. 

There's a lot about me people don't really know. 

I guess that's true for all of us. 

And I thought about how even though that concerto is my absolute favorite I haven't listened to it for a long time. 

And how I fell in love with it ten years ago. 

Along with the boy who played it for me.

But there are some things that no matter how much time passes never change. 

We change. 

But there are the occasional delights we never can seem to let go of. 

Because they're too much a part of who we truly are. 

And only we will ever understand that about ourselves. 

The rest of the world thinks we're slightly batty. 

Sometimes I think I don't really know myself until other people do or say things that remind me of who I am. 

What I don't want. 

What I do need. 

I had dinner with a girlfriend and somehow something came up about my brother. 

And I said a lot of people don't know I have a brother. 

And she said, I didn't know you had one. 

And it was in that moment that I realized I was kinda mad about that. 

Because people don't know I have a brother because he's really not a part of my life. 

We don't talk. We don't see each other. 

That's just the way it is. 

He's busy. 

And his life is this rigid schedule that I can't seem to make an appointment with his secretary because I can never seem to get my call through. 

So it is what it is. 

And I don't really think about it. 

But my friend looking at me and saying that, that she didn't know I had a brother made me want to throw my chimichanga across the bar. 

(Not really. Those things from Santeria are sacred. I don't care how fucking raging you are.)

Things get buried. 

Even for someone who communicates as openly and frequently as I do. 

Life stings. 

So we find ways to deal and ignore. 

But there are also so many who do understand so much. 

So many little things that make up the core of who I am. 

And I love that. 

I love the way people can know what I was gonna say or know why I didn't text them back. 

The way my friends obsessively stalk a boy at his bar because that's exactly what I would do and oh my god, girl, I totally feel you, why won't he just realize his mad love for you, I get it.

I love the way he has to text me because we've been thinking about each other all day and there are only so many hours that can pass before he must send an emoji because dammit, communication is the root of my connection!

And I must speak. 

To know truth. 

To hear my own voice say things I didn't know I felt. 

And while I moan at Timing and her seemingly relentless torture of all of me, I find myself marveling too. 

The serendipities that make me fall in love with life all over again. 

If I hadn't been there I wouldn't have learned that and I wouldn't have texted him and we never would have met up. 

And if I hadn't lost my job I wouldn't have had the weekends free and I wouldn't have been able to fill in and realize I have a new dream.  

Always ever always those moments are spinning and building and forming these perfect little circles that I'm constantly trying to fight. 

Because I don't see or trust or believe. 

I merely feel. 

Those feelings, I can't even confide in. 

They are fickle and fleeting and rarely backed by acts. 

But sometimes in those wee hours of the night, I catch glimpses of myself staring back at me. 

In my friends, in my lovers, in the joy and love they pour into me. 

And they remind me by simply being who they are, who I am. 

What I love. 

What I want. 

And I so easily forget everything else. 

But them. 

And right now. 

And this moment. 

Cheers.

Bye bye vlog

My Barista loves me. 

When I go into her cafe she puts stars and loving adjectives all over my cup.

She always makes me smile. 

I adore her. 

The last time I saw her she asked me when I was gonna post my next video. 

I didn't have the heart to tell her I don't want to make YouTube videos anymore. 

I don't even know what happened but as soon as I got home from Spain I didn't want to make one. 

And I realized I didn't want to make any at all. 

Creating is something that is constantly changing. 

I'm changing so what I want to express and how I want to express it must grow too. 

I don't want to try and make people laugh anymore. 

I just want to be. 

I also don't want to be judged anymore. 

My blog doesn't seem to instill strong reactions of rage ('cept for that one girl who didn't want me climbing with her boyfriend anymore).

But my videos. 

My videos did. 

And I didn't think I cared. 

Because they were all honest expressions of pieces of me. 

And I would never take any of them down. 

But I don't want to be defined by them anymore. 

I don't even know how to explain it. 

But I just changed. 

Spain changed me. 

I learned people are never simply the way you think you see them. 

They're complex. And broken. 

And lovely. 

And strangers. 

We're all strangers. 

But sometimes we learn more than we don't know about someone. 

Or we find someone who will be silly and ridiculous with us. 

Who will get consumed in the moment with us. 

I want my life to be made of those moments. 

Alongside those who trust me enough to fully embrace their time with me. 

To give every fiber of their being over to that conversation, that long drive, that dance on the sand. 

So I guess I no longer need to say all the things I used to need to say in my videos. 

Now I just want to write. 

This blog. 

I don't want to alienate it anymore. 

I want it to be how I share. 

Because for some reason, when it comes to my writing, I'm never trying to be anything, or say anything other than ...

Me. 

Raw Reese. 

The girl who drives the men she loves away. 

But who is only singing louder because of it. 

Twirling.

Laughing. 

Loving the moments that exist now. 

Because they are worth every ounce of me. 

Wonderful, wild me. 

the universe hates me

When you haven't seen someone for a long time who used to be an integral part of your life seeing them for the first time is kinda surreal.

Your mind plays this trick on you. 

And you suddenly forget everything, all the bad feelings, the drama, the times you imagined setting them on fire. 

And all you actually feel is joy. 

Your eyes can't believe what they're seeing because it's been ages since they looked on that figure, that body you once knew every inch of. 

So you don't think you just move. 

Towards them. 

Nervous but mostly excited. 

You fight your natural instinct to throw your arms around him the way you always used to. 

That moment he'd desperately fight the smile that inevitably always formed on his lips.

And in this moment all you see is all those past moments because surely he will be as happy to see me once again. 

After all, it's been months upon months, and it surely was serendipity that brought us together this same hour. 

So you just smile and say, Hey. 

And as he looks at you your memory suddenly wakes from its reverie. 

Somewhere between rage and hate, an annoyance that I was not only breathing the same air as him but that I would dare be so near his face. 

Apathy. 

Disconnect. 

Utter disdain for my fucking face. 

Slightly overwhelmed by the energy pouring into me from him I happily rambled, How's it going?

He stared hard. 

Cold. 

Then looked away. 

I'd rather we didn't talk, he said. 

Dumbfounded I just stood there. 

Shock immobilizes you. 

To the point that you literally physically don't know what to do. 

You can't actually do anything. 

Because every muscle in your body is trying to absorb the disbelief. 

The first movement I was able to make was to move my head. 

I looked to my right and his climbing buddy looked at the ground. 

Timid. 

Ashamed. 

Like she was embarrassed for me. 

I didn't even know her!

Did she know about me?

I uttered nothing. 

Not a sound. 

And finally able to gain control of my body just turned and walked away. 

What. The FUCK. 

What the fuck had I done?

He wanted me to wait in line for an iPhone just weeks ago and now he was treating me like I'd murdered his mother. 

We weren't even sleeping together!

How could any man hate me that much without having recently entered me?

I always blamed my vagina for turning men into assholes. 

So what the hell?

But fine. 

FINE. 

I'm not gonna try and convince someone who looks at me like that to stay in my life. 

I felt hollow when he looked into my eyes. 

So I never texted. 

I never reached out. 

I accepted. 

And that should have been it. 

But the universe hates me. 

I saw him again last night. 

I almost walked into him. 

And this time he didn't look at me with rage. 

He looked at me like I was invisible. 

He looked right into my eyes. 

And held them captive in his gaze. 

Like he was waiting to see what they'd do. 

What I'd do. 

And I felt like a dog. 

Watching my owner drive away. 

And I suddenly wanted to shout out WHY.

And I felt the urge to go running toward him. 

And shout in his face WHAT DID I DO.

Because he was my world for so long. 

But I just watched him walk away and did nothing. 

Because I had nothing left. 

He killed it all. 

And I knew him. 

And I hadn't seen him for months. 

And I always climb at the same times. 

And he knows that. 

And I knew he'd wanted to run into me. 

Because he hadn't been there for months. 

And now he was. 

Just so he could look deep into my eyes and let me know I mean nothing to him.

Dear god, universe, please, hear my broken heart. 

Keep him away from my sight. 

I can't bear to look into those vacant eyes. 

The water will uncontrollably fall until I can't stand anymore. 

Please spare me. 

Isn't losing him enough for one lifetime?

another sort of rabbit hole

I still don't have sheets on my bed. 

Like. 

They're in the dryer. 

There's just none on my bed. 

I'm gonna say that must mean something. 

But I also have been out every night since it happened. 

This social butterfly is one satisfied flame enveloped moth.

I'm not really sure what happened. 

Let me rephrase. 

IM WELL AWARE OF WHAT HAPPENED I WAS THERE

But when something random as fuck happens you're left feeling a little like, what exactly WAS that?

Or W H Y was that?

Like 

HooOoOoOOow??

My life was like Pow•Pow•Pow

Smacks to the heart

And then amidst the rampant rejection

"I HAVE NO DESIRE TO SEE YOU OR TALK ABOUT THINGS"

Thus saith the Sheldon

But that one crazy bastard popped up at just the right moment to blow my mind. 

Well. 

Pop up isn't the right phrase

Exactly.

But all I can say is--

Did he really always drink vodka? It like, bothers me that I didn't remember that.

Relationships in my life are having these catastrophic yin & yangs. 

People are leaving my life in violent flurries and simultaneously new folks are entering with all the intensity of love that blossoms after 4 years not our mere 4 hours. 

I am flooded with members of my lost tribe.

It almost makes it --easy?---that those I've lost have gone cursing my name into the night.

No.

Not easy.

I want every motherfucker to like me.

But god.

There is nothing like Being Worshipped to no longer give a shit about anyone who thinks so little of you. 

It was sort of like being visited by my Fairy Orgasm Maker.

He's not gonna like that I called him a fairy.

You know, it's like fairy godmother? But like, the fairy labia doctor? Wow. This is getting awkward. 

I would like to have him on call for those heart shattering emergencies like finding out that stupid penis I was so obsessed with has a new girlfriend. 

I am So. Happy. For you. I wish you every. Happiness.

Or

May your perfect dick fall off and may she sleep with your father.

Namaste.

Moments that are both ridiculous and serious are kind of game changers. 

You're like in this moment and see it one way--outside yourself--looking down, nearly laughing at the absurdity of your actions--and then a breath--and suddenly none of it's funny--it's real. Extremely, overwhelmingly real. And the flood of it all barrels down on you, with such force. And intensity. The way you used to hope for things. These things. And how you hadn't even remembered any of it for ages. Days. Years. And maybe no longer needing it made it conjure up out of smoky air.

And all at once it's all hazy. 

And clear. 

And finished. 

And forever still writing your story. 

Because songs will always play. 

And so he'll always think of you. 

Of me. 

My smell. 

The intoxicating air that drowns us. 

And I don't need any of it. 

Time has proven its erratic indifference. 

And yet. 

I did. 

And I will. 

And there are so many.

and such hours to be whiled.

Hands to fall into.

Lips to sip on.

And to my surprise it still.

Is.

The crazy to my cray. 

My match, met. 

Not a partner but a soul shaker. 

Far away.

Ever always. 

But when the leaves change color and the year particularly grey, the stars form a rope we both cling to and climb, to some universe we exist apart from reality. 

Where he is he and I am she

And we two form an altogether perfect chaos.

Feeling only the other as our breath stirs rhythmic to the melodies pouring from my bedroom walls. 

And I fall. 

I fucking fall, my hair hugging the ground and the words softly resonate 

You're the only woman I ever lay on the floor with.

So I forget to put on sheets and my mind softly fumbles over each image, each smirk, each grasp.

And I lay.

On the ground. 

Calm.

Serene. 

Satisfied. 

That could only ever stem from such loving raw acceptance. 

That I've only ever known from him. 

I've never felt like such a goddess for simply being my fucked up self.

More of this, Life.

Dear, sweet surprising Life. 

Consume my soul with more of this. 

The New Girlfriend

Feeling differently about an old lover is a strange sensation. 

There's the pride. 

Feeling that you've somehow won.

Because the power they once possessed over you had subsided. 

And you feel stronger because of it. 

There's the pang of longing.

Even though you feel empowered having shed the arduous infatuation some part of you still pines for nostalgia and holding onto those dear love feelings you once so cherished. 

There's the wonder. 

As you observe their features and demeanors, the way sentences sound as they spill from their mouth.

You find yourself marveling at why it once  seemed flawless. 

When now you hear the condescension and hubris, the indifference and the feigned niceties. 

There's the sadness. 

That all those magical atoms no longer dance among you. 

And when you lock eyes the emotion stirred is more lifeless than you imagined could exist between once passionate lovers. 

But I simply observed. 

And accepted. 

And even delighted in feeling his sloppy disheveled state wasn't adorable.

He just looked tired. 

His mood irritable. 

When he looked at me I didn't feel like a goddess anymore. 

I didn't feel anything. 

I checked my bill and noticed he hadn't paid for either of my drinks. 

My ego winced. 

As I signed the receipt I then turned over the second copy.

It was lovely to see your face. You were the best part of my day, I scribbled on the back. 

Just like he used to say. 

Nostalgia prompting me to place some significance on my exit, unnecessarily so.

I reached in my coin purse and pulled out a ten dollar bill. 

Insecurity prompting me to tip generously, as though a thousand pennies might make him think well of me. 

Suddenly the elderly woman to my right said, louder than necessary, Is that your girlfriend over there? The one with the brown hair? She is cute.

I didn't look up from my receipt.

I ceased movement and channeled all my energy into listening, the way a deer might fearing a hunter. 

My lack of movement was met with silence. 

I imagined a smile or nod was the reply to the loud woman's questions.

But no words were spoken. 

No agreement or prideful ownership of the title.

The word Girlfriend hung in the air.

Shrill. 

And resonant. 

Slowly I slipped the receipt with the scrolled message into my purse and returned the ten dollar bill to the coin purse. 

I reached for a few one dollar bills already bundled and placed it on the wordless receipt. 

As I stood I met his gaze. 

It was good seeing you, I smiled. 

His stare for the first time all eve looked intense. 

The truth had been revealed and I'd understood in those brief seconds why he'd never met me all those months ago. 

He'd found someone who wasn't complicated. 

Who didn't need his time because she was already always with him. 

She didn't judge his brokenness because she hadn't known him before.

And a part of me was genuinely happy for him. 

But my ego. 

My battered little ego looked at the girl in the black lace dress and whispered, Why her and not me?

And then the poor ego sighed and slumped over with all the dejected sadness in the world. 

It wasn't my fault I met him when tragedy struck. 

It wasn't my fault she got to meet him after the dust had settled. 

It felt like he won. 

And I lost. 

My string of disappointing lovers leaving me in the same state of singledom he'd left me in.

And that oath of needing to heal on his own, of being too fucked up to be with anyone. 

Love isn't dead but my chivalry is writhing in its death bed. 

What false words!!

She had his hands on her waist and I had his hollow texts.

It's not fair, my heart moaned. 

It's just not fair. 

If only he would have shared this truth.

What healing could have been so long ago!

But he wasn't a transparent truth teller as he'd so admired in me. 

And he never shared with me the way I gave so freely to him. 

Leaving I met my friend in the street. 

She wrapped her arms around me and told me what I hadn't seen. 

I walked up to him and I asked him, 'So Teresa....what's the deal....I know you don't know me or anything...' And he said, "Yeah, I don't. And it's none of your fucking business. If Teresa wants to know how I feel then she can talk to me."

I blinked.

Stunned.

He was so MEAN, she said. 

Earnest concern poured from her eyes. 

I didn't know what his anger meant. 

It made no sense. 

I hadn't heard from him in months. 

He obviously didn't care. 

So if I mattered so little why wouldn't he respond with his typical calm indifference?

Why so much anger toward a girl he looked at without even seeing anymore?

But for the first time this whole time I didn't need to solve his puzzle anymore. 

And as we drank and laughed elsewhere my phone beeped with a text from him. 

A him I hadn't seen in a very long time. 

Who suddenly wanted to see me. 

Because Timing in all her cruelty also pours sunshine into our hearts.

And as I walked into a bar I've never been, I saw him across the room.

Heading towards me a smile danced across his lips. 

And as he reached me his eyes smiled themselves. 

And I suddenly felt beautiful for the first time that night reflected in his eyes. 

And it all no longer mattered. 

The black lace dress or the unsolicited rage. 

The heartache was buried in the past. 

And this other past was now standing before me. 

In this moment. 

Something altogether new. 

And somehow, unchanged as it once was. 

"You are so free"

I've decided life is better when you have a secret. 

You know the real reason people have affairs?

Because it's fun having a secret. 

It makes the atoms within you constantly dance. 

With this energetic anticipation. 

You don't share. 

With anyone.

People are constantly judging you. 

All the damn time. 

This morning I was informed after the fact that it was "jean day" at work.

"We figured you weren't really a jean person," they defended. 

"Naw, not really," I played along.

Even though I'd already planned on wearing my favorite pair of skinny jeans out tonight with my friends. 

But sure. 

I'm not a jeans person. 

Whatever you want. 

That moment itself is arbitrary but shit like that happens all the time. 

People constantly think they know you. 

They get you. 

They've got you all figured out cuz they once had a friend who was sorta like you in those ways they think they understand and everyone's the same really especially if they too had big boobs and curly hair and were once embarrassingly hung up on some kid named Matthew. 

People and their presumptions fucking exhaust me. 

I'm not like your cousin, Dora. 

And I'm not like that girl who was in your math class. 

I'm MYSELF.

And I never noticed before just how frequently people are quick to judge how well they know what I would like or who I'd want to sleep with or whether I'd be up for taking the stairs because after all, I'm just a lazy American.

Do you know what is rare?

People that want to take the time to get to know who you secretly are.

People who'd rather ask you questions than make blanket statements. 

Already knowing everything never makes you appear smarter. 

You just appear dull.

What scintillating conversation, you already know everything I'm going to say.

Why don't I just smile and nod like the good little girl that I am?

I have a secret. 

I know what next week brings.

And those who have no idea have been treating me as such. 

Everyone has a secret. 

And I'm sure some are ones they never want anyone to discover. 

But if we could know each other's secrets I bet our interactions would be different. 

I bet we'd long to ask each other more questions and feel stupid for the presumptions we're always making. 

Upon news of my recent travels this girl I didn't know looked at me with curiosity. 

"I'm already talking with a friend about traveling abroad next year," I said. 

Her stare intensified.

'You're so free,' she said.

'I can't even go to California because of my children. There would be all this shouting, this difficulty. But you. You are free.'

I smiled. 

Single women never think about themselves like that.

But we are. 

Free.

I have the luxury of using my vacation time when I please, of spending my money however I choose, of going when I want because my choices are my priority and I have no one else controlling my life but me.

And that realization is extraordinary. 

I have a secret.

I want to see more. 

Seeing that small corner of Spain was like tasting my first piece of chocolate. 

The corners to be seen are vastly infinite. 

And taking that trip has stirred an awareness in me akin to what I felt when I purchased my first ruby and diamond ring. 

What have I been waiting for?

The only one to wait for is myself. 

And the only time to wait until is now. 

People will talk. 

And they will judge and presume. 

And few will ever actually invest the time it takes to learn the secret ticks of this longing heart of mine. 

But I will choose this moment.  

To adventure and risk. 

To travel to corners I've never known. 

To meet the lovers I've not yet imagined. 

And it won't always need to be thousands of miles away. 

It could be a new corner I've passed dozens of times and never bothered to stop and see. 

And it makes it so much easier to let go of those, the abundant presuming clowns, who couldn't see my truth, my cry for wild, ridiculous love. 

The lovers.

But also the friends. 

And for the first time, their judgement no longer moves me. 

Because they are what's behind. 

And my new found love is all that is ahead. 

The unknown. 

And the secrets I have yet to possess as my own. 

Waiting for me.

To find them. 

And delight in them. 

In ways only I could ever understand. 

Here I Am

Anytime I've ever heard anyone talk about traveling abroad the stories are always of wonder and glory. 

Adventure. Transformation. 

You go one woman and return another. 

I'd never once heard anybody talk about what it does to your body to travel a third of the world, through five time zones, up for thirty hours on a mere two hours of sleep. 

It fucking sucks.

My first couple of days in Alicante I was in a fog. 

Excited, certainly. 

But like some character I was portraying in a play, part of me was very present in the action of the story, in all that was happening to me. 

But another part of me had this awareness that I was also somewhere else. 

I was somewhere dormant within, unable to fully wake the core of my spirit because it was so fucking exhausted it refused to play anything but comatose. 

I also was rooming with a girl I'd never met. 

The whole story sounds like a play or some movie. 

Which really isn't surprising because I'm such a fucking drama queen it stands to reason every action I take, whether subconscious or not, stems from a desire for drama. 

In the few short days I've been here (though here they have felt long) there has already been tears and misunderstanding and laughter and pure joy. 

A friend of mine recently had a baby, a child she's wanted desperately for years. 

And one day we were talking on the phone and she was describing her day to me. 

How she'd gone to the park and her baby had a diaper accident and how she had to clean it up.

"That was my day," she said. 

"The park and the messy diaper."

But no one ever puts photos of that on Instagram. 

Because who wants to be inspired by the honest monotony of daily life?

I am grateful to be here. 

I am overwhelmed that I found this incredible closeness with someone I've known such a short while they were a stranger the last time the Phantom was inside me. 

Time can move with the speed of an impatient teenage boy. 

Or it can drag each hour for months while you wait for that once enraptured boy to text you again. 

Sheldon never saw me even though he said we'd "work something out" and it still pisses me off 5,619 miles away from him.

I can't change anyone's choices.

After my first day here I was looking through the photos we took. 

Wearing similar dresses with our matching red lips and pinup hairdos I couldn't believe that we were creating an actual photo side by side the way we'd been creating collages of our photos for months. 

But there we stood, right next to each other, and the joy we both felt was evident on each of our faces. 

The absurdity of me carefully placing my phone in that window ledge so we could pose on the stairs together like models on a set, directing each other as though the shots would be sent to print, promoting the colorful dresses we each wore. 

I smiled as I looked at each photo and then stopped on one. 

I'd never noticed it before but my friend suddenly looked like the girl, my friend of five years who'd basically broken up with me months ago because I "only ever talk about myself" and we "never talk about her." 

Because having the man you were starting to fall for and the man you'd depended on for three years banish you from the privilege of their affections wasn't enough. 

I needed to have a woman I considered a soul sister do it as well. 

And as a sigh of sadness crossed my heart I felt angry. 

Because I'd worked so hard to be standing where I was. 

I'd spent hardly any money feeding myself for weeks to compensate the cost of my plane ticket. 

I'd spent hours each night those same weeks desperately searching for a new job to come home to so I wouldn't be void of savings the next time rent was due. 

I'd even accepted the polite rejection of the first sincere and genuine guy I'd dated this year who admitted he wasn't ready for a relationship. 

And I stood here, on Spanish soil, with the first (of many, I might add) stamps in my passport, and I refused to let these people taint this moment. 

This moment was mine.

And maybe it wasn't glamorous like the Marilyn Monroe movies I've watched over and over again. 

But you know what?

Marilyn was secretly a hot mess. 

And we love her in spite of it. 

Maybe because of it. 

And the first part of my trip I felt a bit like some fragment of my actual self. 

In a strange land where I don't speak the language, in the home of a girl I only just met, with the expectation and anticipation of the adventure that is to be of my lifetime. 

But I came here, I boarded the plane with no expectations. 

With no anticipation except I wanted to meet my friend. 

I could have gone anywhere. 

I wanted to meet her.

And I've felt for days, since I started traveling, like I didn't know what to write. 

Because it's supposed to be this great adventure so I should have something great to say. 

But you know what my favorite part of today was?

It was when Marjie decided to take me to this store she knew I'd love. 

A store in a mall. 

It wasn't some local restaurante or some great historical landmark with significance and the perfect backdrop for an IG #fromwhereistand.

It was this cheap super store with all kinds of knick knacks and doo dads every girl having a bad day would go to buy happiness. 

And the first section of the store we went to had pajamas in it. 

And as I scanned the walls I saw it, featured on display. 

A giant baby pink onesie with white hearts and a cat head. 

The kind of pjs you'd put on a toddler and force it to stand there uncomfortably while you took pictures of it for grandma and grandpa who bought her the stupid thing. 

And with no shame or modesty or embarrassment at all, I grabbed it off the wall and put it on over my dress.

Giggling I asked Marjie to take my picture in it. 

It was the most ridiculously adorable thing I'd ever seen and it was only thirteen euros. 

"I'm getting it," I declared and a childish smile danced across my face. 

And for the first time since leaving my apartment at 2:30 in the morning, I felt like myself.

My 100% energetic gives absolutely no fucks self. 

And THAT is the most intensely difficult thing about traveling abroad. 

Because how the fuck could I start my adventure when I wasn't even fully here yet?

Time can move with the hope of a seeking woman. 

And find its perfection in the most seemingly insignificant moments. 

Time Indeed

I'm tired. 

But I can't sleep. 

In six hours I will be in the sky. 

On a plane. 

Years ago. 

And I mean years ago. 

I used to feel whenever I looked up and saw a plane it was a sign. 

Of hope.

That something was on its way.

Good things were coming.

Good fortune. 

And love. 

And I think at first I imagined it bringing someone to me.

As though if I closed my eyes and just stood still it would happen. 

Whatever it was.

I didn't even know. 

And then years passed and I stopped believing. 

And I didn't have hope when I saw planes flying overhead. 

I felt annoyed. 

And tricked. 

And stupid for placing a promise in something unseen.

And I resented that girls blind faith when none of it was real.

And then last week I looked up and I saw a plane flying overhead and I thought, I'm going to be on one of those. I'm going somewhere. 

I'm no longer waiting.

I'm moving. 

I've sent out an energy into the world and it's been received. 

And reciprocated. 

And blossomed. 

Into something beyond my own expectation. 

And when I look up and see planes I still believe. 

And this time, the hope is trust.

In timing. 

In relationships. 

In the journey that always relentlessly surprises the fuck out of me. 

And my energy is bubbling up inside me ready to scatter the corners of the world. 

For the first time.

Beyond the reaches I have stretched.

This plane held my time. 

And perhaps someone would look up at the sky and see me and believe. 

In something they forgot had been nudging at their core for a very long time. 

A time indeed. 

Do Right Now

"Just imagine, you're 99 years old and you're on your death bed. All of a sudden you have the chance to come back to right now, what would you do?"

I got a job offer this morning. 

I was still half asleep and did everything I could to sound energetic as the lady on the phone cheerfully said, "I'd like to offer you the role, what do you think??"

I thought that I was smart to trust my instinct and call out to work.

The branch I was scheduled to work at had thee most toxic, negative woman working there I've encountered in months. 

No. 

Years. 

And last night when I thought about what I'd do right now if I was on my death bed and had the chance to do today over what would I do?

I would take care of myself.

I had invitations with several friends for tomorrow and I didn't want to miss out on them because I had to pack. 

So I decided to take the day to get myself organized, to do some self care, to clean my apartment and hang with my cat.

And that way I would then be able to be there for my friends that I love. 

And I wouldn't be spending my last weekday in Portlandia around hostile energy.

Besides, my hope was that by the time I was flying home I'd have another offer and never work for that company again. 

And the first thing--the first fucking thing that happened--when I opened my eyes on this day I restarted and chose to do differently--was a job offer. 

A job.

I'd been exhausting the fuck out of myself applying and interviewing for jobs so I could find something, anything, that would pay me a high enough salary that I could live on. 

75% of my current jobs's wages went to my rent.

You can imagine how not able I've been to stretch the remaining 25% to pay for every other fucking thing.

And this new job would increase my paycheck by a lot.

Or at least it felt like a fucking lot.

So I accepted the offer and hung up the phone and felt so relieved. 

Not only did I no longer have to search for a new job in a desperate panic.

But I also could be free to enjoy my vacation knowing financial security awaited me when I got home. 

And it felt like a reminder that I do know what's best for me. 

And I should always trust my instincts. 

Sometimes I need to take a risk to get what I really need. 

And things work out.

And there's always another job, another friend, another lover.....

Waiting for me. 

I'm ready for it all.

Every fucking second of it. 

Things I've Learned in 2015

Every girl has a Matthew in her life who broke her heart. It's a really common name. 

Whenever I think I have someone figured out they always surprise me. Sometimes in a wonderful way. Sometimes in really tragic ways.

Sex on a first date is only as good as the alcohol you consumed before it. So make sure to always and only drink damn fine cocktails.

Just because a man is 10 years older than the last guy you dated doesn't mean his emotional maturity is going to be any greater. 

Just because a man can't handle your intensity doesn't mean you should tone down your sparkle. 

Just because a man's insecure girlfriend can't handle your intensity doesn't mean you should tone down your sparkle. 

Find something that makes you happy and consistently make time for it. When you start to feel blue it's because you aren't making time for your creative outlet. 

Exercise. Run. Climb. Dance. Whatever it is but MOVE. You cannot truly be content if you aren't active. 

Listen to your gut. If you need to stay at home and read a book alone, do it. If you need to meet up with a friend you haven't seen in years at 11:30pm, do it. No one knows what you truly need in that moment but YOU.

Let go. The people you love who don't love you back. The friends who don't get you. The people who don't delight in you aren't true members of your tribe. Release them so new people who do find you inspiring will fall into your life. 

Talk to strangers. You never know who has an inspiring story or word of wisdom to impart on you. 

That 'People come in & out your life for a reason' expression that always feels annoyingly contrived is actually really fucking true. It just takes time to realize it.

Anything. And I mean fucking A-NY-THING is possible. There is always something unexpected waiting for you. And this time, the surprise will be fantastic. I promise. 

Always take pictures. They're little pieces of artwork that immortalize times in your life you would otherwise forget.