- Top Story - November 2023
Middle Weather Days.Top Story - November 2023
This is it. The weather I’ve been waiting for. Yesterday, in Austin, Texas, we didn’t see the sun. Today was sunny and 80 degrees, but yesterday- sigh- was gray and cloudy and just the right amount of drizzly all day and the kind of weather that just makes me feel so soft. The heat makes me sad and angry. The sunshine makes me feel like I should do something productive even if I don’t want to. But on days like yesterday, on glorious, sprinkling days full of gray, the weather demands nothing of me. It is middle weather. It makes me feel like the only thing I have to do is snuggle or drink warm beverages or stroll or watch movies, or really just do anything I feel like doing, and it’s the only weather that makes me feel this way, and thus, it is my favorite weather.
I’m three-ish days behind schedule. I didn’t technically meet my goal last week, so I will aim for two pieces this week. I know I don’t need to tell you that, I know you aren’t keeping track on a calendar, but I feel like writing about it feels like accountability. I’m still not feeling overly creative or inspired the last few weeks and haven’t come up with a whole lot of stuff I feel excited to write about. If you read my last post, you know what I mean when I say “still.” But I feel less stuck, so that’s positive. I just don’t feel like I have it in me this week to follow a theme like girlhood, or to dive into the list of topics that I want to write about eventually (like how often I think about Taylor Swift or how New York City was my first love.) I will, but just not today. I don’t feel focused. I’m having a hard time writing about anything other than how much I miss my dog. A little over a week since my last post, and I have come to the conclusion that my writer’s block is in fact a delicate blend of planetary alignment and sadness.
Big Love. Big Grief.
TW: Pet loss, death, suicide A part of me feels like I should have written this days ago, when my whole body was filled with the deepest grief I have ever known; when I was the rawest, the most vulnerable, and the saddest. I would have been able to capture in perfect acuity every thought, every ache of loss that contorted my body into a quivering ball of human on the floor, every word spoken. But that’s the thing. Maybe I should’ve written this days ago, but for all the reasons listed above, I couldn’t.
Here's to Girlhood
The internet moves fast. By the time I think of something I want to write or get around to some silly little TikTok trend I want to jump on, it’s over. We’ve moved on. Our collective energy is focused on something else. You don’t have to look far to see this. There is still a war raging in Ukraine and the blue and yellow flags that flew with such fervor stateside have faded, tattered, or been torn down. There is a new war to focus on. People know they’ve cancelled some celebrity or company but can’t remember what for anymore. Women were walking around saying, “Hi, Barbie,” to other Barbies that crossed their paths, and before my personalized HI BARBI license plate could even arrive, the hope of Barbieland becoming real seems to have disappeared, giving way to the Kens, once again.
Support looks different depending on the day
I got my first paid subscriber this weekend. It was my dad, for those of you that were wondering. But with that subscription, a cascade of thoughts, and outright epiphanies sauntered in, starting with how cool it was to open my email and see that I had a paid subscription when I had just posted my first piece. Now, I did NOT know who it was at first, and I just thought, wow, man, my writing career is going to soar if I already have fans. And when I saw it was my dad, I thought, oh man, of all the fans, he might be my biggest. And then my mom subscribed, and I thought, wow, I have two biggest fans. And this is when the emotion kicked in. (My husband might be my biggest fan of them all, but that is a different story because today we are talking about parents.)
When I was 28 I decided to quit my life. Figuratively. Call it a quarter life crisis or crazy or brave or stupid or all of the above. Call it what you want, because the truth is, any of those things would be appropriate adjectives. However, no matter what you call it, it was the most terrifying thing I have ever done on purpose.
I should be down at the beach right now.
I should be down at the beach right now. I’m in Costa Rica, my first international trip since COVID, and I should be lounging in a hammock hung between two palm trees while I watch the waves rise and fall. And normally, that’s what I do while I’m here. But today, I am sitting poolside, listening to the birds and the fountain and can still hear the white noise of the ocean, even if I can’t hear the individual waves crashing. I’m sitting here because “here” feels like the right place to be this morning. I’m sitting here because “here” feels like the life that is waiting for me when the hands-on parenting years are over and we watch our kiddo grow into an adult from afar, careful not to interfere with his growth and life choices as he discovers who he is and who he wants to be. I sit here because the first thing anyone teaches you about creating the life you want, manifesting your future, is to feel what it would feel like to already have the things you want, and so as I sit here, poolside, under a tin roof with my now-cool cup of Costa Rican coffee and my laptop, here feels like my future.