Future Tripping

I wouldn’t consider myself a planner, but I do get ahead of myself

A handsome boy quickly turns into my husband before I know his first name

A new client becomes the millions of emails I’ll have to send to onboard them

The second bite of cake evolves to a bigger jean size

My butterfly filled stomach becomes nausea as I picture the end of what could have been

Why is It so hard to sit. To sit with the moment, emotion, the feeling - to experience something, anything, for what it is and all it could just be

Not everything needs to be more; good, bad, tragic, life changing

I’m learning to embrace the process without expectation

For once, I’d like it to surprise me, no matter fates decision

Delusion

From the archives

Is it crazy that I’m thankful for my ability to conjure up fantasies? At the risk of consistent drop in dopamine when I’m shaken back to my life, I would still choose to imagine, to dream, to hope, to feel the things that make us human.

The excitement, wonder, lust, fear, heartbreak, infatuation - even if they are not based in my reality.

I met a cute guy this weekend and it made me wonder how many strangers I’ve married in my mind. A glimmer of a spark and I spiral deeply and quickly. Our engagement, rock solid marriage, and our three perfect children. Am I crazy? Maybe. But these stories are a respite from the monotony. When I think back on my made up loves, I rarely remember their names, but I’m certain we were meant for each other, even if for a moment in the secret spaces of my heart and mind.

Prose

What if I replaced I think with I know?

The difference between not knowing and certainty is action. The purgatory is sticky, but it’s warm and keeps me down, keeps me quiet, keeps me from being myself.

Trust is a muscle and if you don’t work it you won’t know and it only grows if it’s there. The only way to fail is to pause and remain in the comfort of what you don’t realize is actually hell.

Trusting and knowing are kindred spirits, one in the same. Their love child is peace.

Social Media

I check the places I know will puncture my heart

I feel it in my lungs, then in the place between your ribs where you can get the wind knocked out of you

It’s brief, but it stops me in tracks

The color flushed out of my cheeks

The hairs on my arms stand on end

And for 2, 4, 6 and sometimes 8 counts I hold my breathe because I am struck and struck with the world spinning around me while I stare at my screen

What’s worse is I have no basis to make assumptions

My mind is a bottomless pit

Endless possibilities

For as much as a gift it can be,

The creativity is also crippling

You’d think I was a detective, a narc for myself

These discoveries are small victories that leave you feeling a loss

They say it’s lonely at the top and they’re right

When you finally take the deep desperate breath, you come to your senses

I promised I wouldn’t do this

But in some ways this knowledge, no matter the truth or context, gives me strength

Another realization that I’m still breathing, I’m okay, I can and am doing this thing called living

I Want It All

I don’t want to forget these moments and the moments that have passed. The people, the feelings, the places, the impression I’ve made, the laughs I’ve given and have received. I want to remember the old man at the gym every morning, and the time I did a workout in the airport in Canada. I want to hold onto the compliment a leader at my company gave - the feeling that I matter, I want to bottle up the moment when I’m on the brink of tears at church when they sang O Come Emmanuel. I don’t want to forget the strangers who are part of my daily routine or the friends I have today who may not be one day. I want every moment to feel just as important as it feels now, but not at the expense of missing out on more.

How can I cling to all that’s led me here, all that I have, and still make room for what’s to come?

I want my past, present, and future, all at once.

Grays

I’m only 27 but I notice the grays, the wrinkles, the cellulite, the aches.

Maybe they’re there as mementos of the years we’ve lived, of the memories, of the gift that each passing day is.

What if these unwelcomed changes were actually cherished reminders of how far we’ve come.

Imagine if we looked forward to new sprouts of wiry white hair as a totem and tribute of where we’ve been and where we are going.

Our bodies are museums and art galleries, a living, breathing celebration of a life well lived.

Mother As A Roommate

I moved back in at the age of 27. It’s easy to compare my stage of life with all my peers. Some married and on their second child. Others living alone across the world. And then me. Back home and my roommate is my mother. Roommate is misleading because we are within earshot at any given moment. This may be someones worst nightmare. And some days it is mine. But that doesn’t take away the fact my mom found my Aritzia long-sleeve turtleneck after I rummaged my entire dresser. It was hung in the closet.

Yes, this is sometimes my worst nightmare, but I’m also the luckiest girl in the world. This phase of life is exactly where I’m supposed to be and it breaks my heart knowing it can’t last forever.

The Days

When we say these are the days what are we referring to? The nights in bed by 8 watching self-development YouTube videos or the days that don’t end until 7 AM and you can’t tell if you’re drunk or drunk in love?

Maybe “the days” are those moments when you realize you’ve gone a day without wincing at the thought of them because you finally stopped constantly thinking of them. I think these are all the days, for the people we are and are becoming and have been in our life.

All of these moments serve a purpose for the days we need hope, to laugh, to cry, to sigh with relief - to be proud of the life we’ve built, for the things we’ve overcome, for the joy we’ve felt. And for the few and far between moments of optimism- to consider all the days to come and look forward to.

When We Change

Is change a revolving door? As parts of ourselves come in and out, ebb and flow, is it possible we lose the best parts of ourselves? I was talking to my mom the other day about one of her best friends. They used to communicate all the time, consistently - To the point that I noticed when they weren’t. The saying goes out of sight, out of mind. This was the opposite. There was a void, a drift. Did someone or something replace her? I consider knowing my mom and being her daughter one of my favorite attributes. What did this person no longer see in her for the tide to change? Or was it even about her? What could it be in them?

The thing is I don’t think these micro-shifts are intentional. And that is what is most damning. The subtle thoughtlessness that quite honestly plagues all of us. Our to do lists pile up. The most urgent thing becomes the main thing until it becomes THE thing and the conveyor belt continues its replacement horror film. Suddenly our entire DNA reconstructs, and we are no longer who we once were, on accident.

Question. When do we take responsibility? Could it be we are so unaware of this seismic microscopic shift that we don’t even play the blame game because we don’t know we are Player 2? We all must realize we have a role in this very real simulation. No one is immune to the chains of change.

The way we win? Awareness is your immunity - And when you control the remote to determine what is placed on or removed from the conveyor belt. We make the decision to become butterfly or a moth. To be free or locked in closets with skeletons we didn’t know we could escape from.