I wanted to write this update much sooner, and I kept putting it off for reasons I haven’t yet figured out. The week following the publication of “It’s All Yellow,” life started to taste really sweet really quickly, and every time I tried to write something about all of the changes that were happening in my life, I couldn’t get myself to do it. I think I felt like I was bragging, or, I was listening to the very real, and terrifyingly consistent, subconscious fear I have that if I get too excited about the good things happening in my life they will ultimately either be taken away from me, or something bad will happen to balance it all back out. So, here we are, a few weeks later, with a 2nd update about all of the good things that happened that week, and all of the seemingly bad things that happened this week, that I’m telling myself is not the universe’s balancing act attacking my life (even though it really feels like it).
Have you ever started a gentle yoga practice and exactly three minutes and twenty-six seconds into it you decide you’ve had enough? Because that is what I just did moments before walking to my computer to type this. My life lately has felt a lot like that three minutes and twenty-six seconds of yoga: probably good for me, but feels pretty damn terrible. To give you an idea, I sat on my mat, and about ten whole seconds into the instructor telling me to “find a comfortable seat” my heart palpitated for the first time in months, and I could feel my anxiety levels rising. No one mentioned my calming breath was going to come with a side of cardiac distress; this isn’t what I ordered and you can take it right back where it came from. Now, if you’ll notice, I continued on the yoga adventure for an additional two minutes and sixteen seconds after that incident, and for two whole minutes and sixteen god awful seconds all I could think to myself was “what the fuck is wrong with me?” Now, this isn’t meant to be a deep dive into the effects of self-talk, or yoga, or why I couldn’t even get through a paragraph without cussing, but what it is meant to be is a deep dive into me, every week (or more), and all the dumb shit (I’d like to point out the connotation of “dumb shit” can be either positive or negative; this is important) that is going on in my brain and body. I’m searching y’all, and I figured if I’m keeping a journal about all the ins and outs of my life to try to make sense of it, I might as well take the few of you who want to read along with me for the ride. I promise it won’t all be as negative as the above, but it won’t be censored, and it won’t be easy, and some of you might not even think my jokes are funny, but that’s okay because I’m giving you this warning now. Just think of all those road signs telling you to watch for falling rocks, beware of ice, and to fucking merge when the lane is going to end. Maybe I’ll keep up with this quest, and maybe I won’t, and all of that is okay, but I hope some of you relate, mostly because that’ll mean I haven’t completely lost it, or, we both have, and in that case at least we have each other.
When bees build hives between walls,
I’ve started writing this on International Women’s Day. Every year, this day sets me back in my seat as I’m reminded of the strong, powerful, and fearless women that exist in this world. Each year, there’s a little part of International Women’s Day that speaks to me more than all the others depending on what I’m focusing on in my life at that time. I remember vividly in 2015, looking through photos of women in the motorcycle industry that have been welcoming beacons into a hobby that I knew nothing about. They don’t know me. They have no idea I follow their motorcycle trips on social media and watch in awe and amazement as they take the power to do these things I couldn’t have even imagined. I remember waking up one International Women’s Day to pictures flooding my timeline of the "Fearless Girl" Statue on Wall Street, wearing a motorcycle helmet. I remember being blown away at that image. I stared at it. It stopped me in my tracks, and I thought to myself, “Why is that so powerful?”
If you’ve spent any amount of time on Pinterest, Facebook, or any other social media that is flooded with inspirational quotes that make you want to get up off your ass, but like, not enough to actually get up off your ass. You’ve probably seen this paragraph in one format or another:
If I had a dollar for every time I called my poor mother to say, “I don’t know why no one will f*cking hire me,” I’d never have to walk into another interview again. When I lived in Daytona Beach, I ran out of jobs within a 50 mile radius to apply for on Indeed. I wouldn’t get calls back, I wouldn’t get contacted after interviews, and I felt like I was left for dead. I’d sit in front of my computer for hours tinkering with my resume and cover letter thinking THAT was going to be what got me the next job. Upon moving to Mississippi, I prepared myself for the struggle of the job hunt …Again. I spent days emailing companies, and submitting application, after application, after application, after application to every position that seemed like it might pay enough to cover my student loan. Let me tell you, I finally hit the jackpot. I got a call back for a Human Resources Coordinator position that I literally didn’t even remember applying for; five interviews later, I got the job.