categorically kate

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  • exiles and homecomings

    exiles and homecomings

    Twelve is the number of half-finished blog posts currently sitting in my ‘drafts’ folder, but countless more have died well before they could even make it there. In the year of our Lord, 2025, my self-censorship is so strong that I self-corrected and edited the prior sentence roughly ten times before deciding it was good enough for me to move on — and then I circled back and made more edits. Twice.

    I once instinctively knew how to tell my own stories. Creation felt effortless; cathartic even. Now I google the word ‘cathartic’ immediately upon typing it; no longer trusting myself to be sure of its meaning.

    I spent five years scrutinizing every sentence, censoring every thought, and doubting every motivation. I’ve lost count of the words I’ve abandoned in various draft folders, spiral notebooks, and post-it notes. Snippets of wisdom sent by unseen forces regrettably left to dry up like the ink they were scribbled with.

    For five years I’ve sheathed my pen and shelved my dreams; opting to ruminate rather than to react. Self-suppression as commonplace as untold stories catching in my throat. A self-imposed Exile, where no one was permitted to truly know me except for myself.

    And though my Exile has taken much from me — my resounding voice ranking high among the causalities — the forced navigation of foreign and often hostile terrain revealed to me profound truths I had overlooked and exposed lies I long believed:

    I once believed that I was a difficult person to love. Too loud. Too headstrong. Too freely spoken. Too deeply feeling. Too passionate. Too needy. A being full of confounding and impossible expectations; nothing short of exasperating to others. Someone destined to be unheard, misunderstood, and left behind. And so, I clung to spaces and people with a level of compassion, care, and concern that I rarely extended to myself. Begging them to stay. Begging them to see me, to love me, to choose me. The epitome of that David Foster Wallace quote: “Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.“

    So thank God for my Exile. For in retracting my claws and licking my wounds I discovered an option to see, feel, and honor my own worth. To pour into myself with the same vigor and vibrance that I once poured into others. To choose me first. To love me most. To like me best. To see me for the beautiful soul I am and have always been. To choose me. To be me. Just me; Categorically Kate.

    These days, the concept of holding tight to something, someone, anything that doesn’t enthusiastically choose me is well, bewildering. I cannot tolerate being tolerated anymore than I can sprout wings and fly to the moon.

    You see, in taking much (and many) from me, my Exile forced me into a deep retreat, that while unpalatable, ultimately allowed me to understand, deep in my bones, both the Pragmatic reality of what it means to be afraid, hurt, silenced, alone AND the Positive possibilities of what always — yes, always — lies beyond such despair and uncertainty. Not all who retreat are defeated.

    So, in a paradoxical kind of way, the hours, days, weeks, months, and years I spent with my mouth shut and my heart broken, opened my mind and beckoned my soul to seek an abstruse conclusion that now permanently dwells in my heart: Our worst Nightmares are often also our saving Grace.

    Thank Source for this Grace.

    Beyond this Exile, a Homecoming approaches. In true candor, that scares the hell out of me. After all this time, my voice feels weak, shaky, and unsure. Despite formerly being an extrovert, my solace now lies in shadows and silence and, quite frankly, I like it there. For while I have never been as undoubtedly convinced of my own power, I am also starkly aware of my fragility; and no one wants to be broken again.

    But this vessel of mine is capable of holding hope and reality in equal measure. And while I’ve struggled to find my words and my Voice — and spent far too long questioning whether I shall ever be equipped to employ them again — I cannot deny that the profound pain I’ve alchemized into authentic and meaningful wisdom demands an audience.

    So, despite now struggling (deeply at times), with the fear and anxiety of being seen, the world is burning and I am forced to acknowledge that my Voice, among others, will be needed to quell the flames. Taking solace in silence and shadows is, quite frankly, no longer tenable.

    Trauma, loss, separation, despair, and rejection once led me to doubt all I once intrinsically knew; and now, though I admittedly sometimes doubt whether I retain an ability to weave metaphor and truth together, like a spider spinning silk, deep down, I know I haven’t lost my ability to tell my stories. That gift has always been mine and nothing can rob me of it except, well, myself. Moreover, my stories deserve to be told and somehow, someday, I will tell them; Today I can accept that I am merely out of practice.

    So perhaps nothing has slipped from me. Maybe I’ve never abandoned my words or abdicated my Truth. Maybe I have just carried these narratives as my children; carefully waiting for the right moment to let them breathe. Undeniably aware that their labor will be raw, honest, and difficult, but also holding space for the Homecoming it will be when — through them — I find a way back to my Voice.

    For today at least, I do not have it all figured out. Not by a longshot. But I do find myself draped in type of pragmatic positivity; willing to be radically honest about the roads I have traveled, and yet, still somehow believing that the path before me, while currently obscured, remains ripe with possibility and potential. For me. For everyone I have ever, and will ever, love. For a world poised to rise from its ashes and come back home to itself.

    Not every Exile ends in Homecoming. But this one will.
    If nothing else, I am certain of that.

  • A Very Normal Christmas

    A Very Normal Christmas

    What is a ‘normal’ Christmas anyways?

    Perhaps 2018 was my last ‘normal’ Christmas. My daughter was 3 that year. We baked cookies. We sat out the empty bag for Santa. I rocked her to sleep. Santa brought her a dollhouse – custom painted to look like OUR house. Funny how talented that Santa bloke is. I made my from-scratch cinnamon rolls the next morning and ate them with my husband as we watched our daughter delight in the general merriment.

    In contrast, 2019 was anything but normal. My husband had left me in July, so we split our daughter’s Christmas day in two King Solomon style. He handed me a bottle of red in a holiday bag when he picked her up at noon. I was bitter and hurt so I refused the gesture, closed the door behind them, and cried.

    My luck (nor anyone’s) improved in 2020. My first ever Christmas Eve and morning in a new-to me home was spent alone. Without my daughter. Without anyone. There was a pandemic. Family remained unvaccinated. Madness, chaos, and despair seem to rule the day. I cried all of Christmas Eve and most of Christmas morning; but my girl came home at noon. She helped me find my smile because despite it all, she still was able to delight in the general merriment of it all.

    On Christmas Eve in 2021, my neighbor got drunk and told me that my ex-husband had never loved me. Why else would he have left me? Stung is an understatement. Surely, that will never count as normal. But I tried. I baked cinnamon rolls but my daughter wouldn’t eat them. And then at noon the dreaded switch-over came. I had pre-planned though and promptly departed for the airport to escape the loneliness. I visited my best friend in Portland. She broke my heart two weeks later; and perhaps I broke hers. Nevertheless, I cried that year.

    I didn’t bake my from-scratch rolls in 2022. In fact, I didn’t do much of anything in 2022 to be honest; unless you count surviving. I think surviving is supposed to count. It was a lonely Christmas Eve. A quiet Christmas morning. And though my heart lightened somewhat when my baby came home, I couldn’t shake the heaviness and a post-Christmas day trip to see my extended family somehow left me lonelier, and with more tears, than before. I refuse to believe that 2022 was my new normal.

    But I could see this year being a real contender for my new normal. By most accounts, it was a wonderful (half) holiday. Despite my hectic work schedule, my now 8-year old daughter and I delighted in each other’s company for the first 10 days of the break. We laughed. We played. We talked. And then last night (Christmas Eve), we watched The Muppet’s Christmas Carol and made cookies that didn’t look like cookies and made last minute preparations for Santa. Then this morning, I watched her pull Santa’s gifts from the same bag that once… a long time ago, held that beloved, custom dollhouse.

    Like a portal to another world, today it produced a custom crocheted doll of Ramona Flowers. A last minute Wish List addition, but Santa magically manages to pull through even on those tough requests, doesn’t he? We played some Mario Bros. and nearly an entire game of Doctor Who Monopoly (She lasted longer than I predicted, and had more cash on hand when she threw in the towel). She even ate my from-scratch cinnamon rolls with me and told me that they were the best cinnamon rolls she had ever tasted. My heart was full.

    Then noon came and so did he. I handed him a gift (for their family of three from… me), along with cookies and a few of those from-scratch cinnamon rolls that he used to love. A gesture, of course, but one sincerely sent. Along with my child. He got her as well I suppose; undoubtedly more appreciated than the gift — as it should be. But not before I hugged her a million times; trying to savor her presence just a moment longer before relinquishing it. And like that, it was his turn to make the most of a half holiday. So she waved goodbye and I managed to hold my tears at bay until they rounded the corner.

    It was a good Christmas. It was. It really, really was.
    My best since 2018 without doubt.
    But, does everyone’s Christmas normally involve tears these days, or is that just a hallmark of a single mom’s Christmas day?

    I’m a full-time mom of an 8 year-old, but also a part-time empty nester; It is never harder to forget that fact than during the holidays. The house goes all quiet, but my soul still aches loudly.

    I’ve spent the last few hours daydreaming about my daughter one day being all grown up. A home and family of her own. Perhaps she’ll invite me to delight in her family’s presence from sun up to sun down on Christmas Day. I wonder when that magical day that might be? My first FULL Christmas Day with my daughter since 2018 can’t come soon enough! But I have to believe that it will. And maybe that, one day, IT will be my new normal. If so, I can’t promise will be no tears, but I can assure you they would be tears of joy! ✨

    But perhaps Judy Garland said it best:

    “Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow.
    Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow.
    So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”

  • Year 36

    Year 36

    Today is my thirty-seventh birthday and before I dive into my annual 40 by 40 update, I have a story I’d like to share:

    Thirty-one years ago, as I celebrated my 6th birthday, my mother was celebrating a milestone of her own. She had reached her long awaited due date with my little brother. Having endured 42 weeks of pregnancy myself, I can now relate to how ‘over it‘ she must have felt on that day. Swollen feet and hands. Sleeplessness and constant discomfort. And yet, there she was – wrangling a gaggle of rowdy children that she had invited into her home just to celebrate…me. Bless her.

    But as so often is the case, children are oblivious to the needs of others and I was no exception. According to her, sometime during the party festivities, I stopped and placed my tiny six year old hands on her full-term pregnant belly and gave my new sibling a stark warning: “Stay in there! I am not going to share my birthday with you!”

    In the end, Matthew stayed put for an another week; so either he heeded my counsel or the Fates decided to give me a bit more time to acclimate to sharing. I say a ‘bit more‘ because little did I know that one day, the Fates would actively weave strands of change in, around, and through my favorite day.

    Thirteen years ago, my older sister met her now-husband and, as luck would have it, he shares my birthday. Overnight, within my extended family my day of recognition and celebration became ours; As I was then 24 and not six, I like to think that I adjusted slightly better to the shared spotlight; but in truth, I still recall feeling an intangible loss that I struggled to explain, understand, or even share with those I trusted most.

    Roughly four years after that adjustment, I became pregnant with my daughter and eagerly began preparing for her arrival with my, now, ex-husband. When my doctor initially determined that my due date would be in September (albeit the 30th), a part of me was gleeful. It tickled me, of course, that my daughter would be a Libra like her mother; but a sliver of self continued to feel like maybe October would remain ‘mine’ insofar as it related to the family and life I was building with my Partner. Maybe I wouldn’t have to share.

    The Fates, of course, those clever, tricky Moirai, didn’t waste a chance to remind me that anything I seek to claim as ‘mine’ is truly an indistinguishable fiber in the brilliant tapestry that connects us all.

    My sweet September baby ultimately took her time and reluctantly arrived Earthside on October 14th following a 47-hour labor and delivery. I was discharged from the hospital on my 29th birthday with a stitched abdomen, an impacted bowel, and an infant. Happy Birthday, right?

    Though I was too exhausted to see it at the time, my daughter’s arrival — so close and yet so distantly removed from my own — would forever change my thoughts on October and birthday celebrations altogether. Her traumatic birth had flipped a switch within me; Something that once felt special because it was ‘mine‘, grew in its noteworthiness because it was now, and would forever be, intertwined with her.

    *****

    My dear daughter turned eight this past weekend; And, as I have done in each of the seven preceding Octobers, I planned a celebration worthy of her. It, of course, included a party, plenty of presents and surprises, and a sugar intake that definitely exceeded the daily recommendation. Most importantly though, her birthday (for me at least) has become symbolic of something I hope to never take for granted: An opportunity to ensure that she knows her presence on this planet — for this lifetime — is truly remarkable and worthy of celebration. And this year — after over a decade of insisting that I no longer needed to celebrate my calendar square, I’ve finally come to my senses.

    For the first time — in a looooonnnggg time — I will fully reclaim my favorite day by celebrating myself with those I love, who love me in return. Tonight there will be a small dinner + an Escape Room adventure. And on Friday, I’m opting for full cringe by throwing myself an Eras inspired 37th birthday party. My birthday present to myself this year will be the same one I give willingly and joyfully to my daughter each year: An opportunity to remember that, I too, am loved and worthy.

    I think time + age have a way of making us feel like adult birthday celebrations are arbitrary and frivolous. After all, grownups should be practical. Our minds should be focused on bill paying, grocery shopping, endless laundry, and Outlook Inbox monitoring. Indulging in too much whimsy — especially when it involves spotlighting oneself — is generally frowned upon and perhaps even considered narcissistic. But my daughter taught me that each of us come into this world carrying a light that is unique and purposeful and that together, they spotlight the tapestry we all continually weave; The anniversary of our birth is a beacon, perhaps needed now more than ever, that calls us back to, and rekindles, our flame so that the world can be a little less dim.

    The world’s population is currently estimated at over seven and a half billion; On average each of us share our special day with over 20 million people. My six year old self would have been horrified to know that, but my 37-year old self finds abiding comfort in it. How wonderful it is to never be alone in our celebration!

    I know without doubt that my world — hell, THE world — would most assuredly be less bright without my daughter. And today, I will embrace my own inner child and concede that — even when I can’t or won’t see it — this world would also be less bright without me. And without you. Without each of us.

    So thirty-one years later, I’m all out of stark warnings and instead will issue an open invitation: “It’s okay to come out now. I know how lucky I am to share my birthday with you all!”

    _______________________________________________________________________________________________

    Here are the items I am crossing off the 40 by 40 list this year:

    Level 1:

    • Read 3 “classics” I haven’t read before: This item has sat, unfinished, on the list since my Year 31 update. Back then I managed to easily power through Jane Eyre + Catcher in the Rye. I ran into issues though in both picking a final classic to read and in, well… reading my pick. I initially tried both For Whom the Bell Tolls and Lord of the Flies. Nothing against either Hemingway or Golding, but I eventually set both aside in favor of more modern reads, which… left this item undone. This year, however, I read The Bluest Eye – Toni Morrison’s first novel initially published in 1970. While some may debate whether it is ‘old enough‘ to be considered a classic, I would argue that its current ‘banned’ status only solidifies its place in the body of critically necessary literature; I know I am better for having read it.
    • Watch the sunrise and sunset in the same day: Without realizing it, I’ve completed this item more than once in my 30’s. Most recently, last November when I arose in Barcelona, Spain for an early-morning flight and noted the sunrise while in route to the airport, and then later watched the sun descend as I embarked on the final leg of my return journey. The year before that, it was an unforgettable sunset on my last evening in Venice followed by another early airport morning run. It seems like I am only awake early enough to catch a sunrise when I am also catching a flight 😉 I’ll get yet another go at it next month, when I travel back to Italy —this time, with my mother. This go round, I hope to be more intentional in my appreciation of the sunrise part; I will endeavor to wipe the sleep from my eyes long enough to admire its glory with the same awe that makes a sunset so moving.

    Level 2:

    • Purchase Create and display original artwork from a local artist: I noted in my Year 34 Update that I had picked a local artist (and friend) to work on a custom piece for my home. Well, life happens and she ultimately wasn’t able to work on piece as planned. I still love the specific idea that I discussed with her and I hope to one day have it commissioned. Until then, however, I’ve learned to embrace my own creativity and the walls of my home now contain a variety of original artwork created by yours truly + #LittleLadyHolland. It’s been an adventure getting to know my artistic side again and I hope it is one that continues well into the next decade.

    Level 3:

    • Leave a 100% tip for great service: Throughout my 30’s I have made it a habit to give 100% tips on Uber/Lyft services when I felt called to by either 1) great service, or 2) meaningful connection with the driver. There was a time though, when I didn’t want to ‘count’ these tips insofar as each relates to this list, because I felt like my ‘Official 100% Tip’ needed to be for some impressive or elaborate occasion with a BIG check. In other words, if the 100% tip didn’t amount to BIG dollars, I did not consider it ‘worthy‘ of notation here. But if anything, my 30’s have taught me to have an open mind and to always take credit for my actions. I still hope that one day I can afford to tip 100% on a BIG check, but for now I know that my current practice of 100% tipping on smaller ride fares still creates BIG ripples of kindness and generosity and I am happy to mark this item off my list.
    • Meet 5 “Internet Friends” in real life: At this stage of my life, it is honestly hard for me to keep track of the difference between ‘Internet Friends‘ and ‘IRL Friends‘. That distinction seems soooooo 10-years ago 😉 So many of my IRL friends have morphed into Internet ones due to lockdowns, physical moves, and other major life events. But I have little doubt that between meeting + maintaining friendships with many of my fellow ‘semi-retired bloggers’ and fellow GOMI-Fall 2015 moms in my early 30’s, plus more than one run-in with Julianne Moore (1 + 2), multiple international travel acquaintances that I keep in touch with, at least two relocated besties (I miss you Niki + Kevin!), and a handful of Bumble matches turned BFFs certainly ticks off the spirit of this item, and likely the letter of it as well. I’m good with calling this one done.

    Level 4:

    • Visit three countries in Europe: France (2018), Italy (2022), + Spain (2022) = CHECK, CHECK, CHECK!

    *****

    Other List Updates:

    • Pay off all student debt (Level 4): This would have happened this year but for an illegitimate SCOTUS striking down President Biden’s student loan forgiveness program. It will never be lost on me that millions of Americans, including myself, are expected to struggle with debt while dozens of elected officials — and others who celebrated the ruling against student loan forgiveness — lined their pockets with forgiven PPP loans, but I digress… I hope to still reach this milestone before 40.
    • Become proficient (er, conversational) in another language (Level 4): I like to think that I am slowly but surely inching towards this one. Does ordering coffee in Italian while in Rome count? If so, I’m in like Flynn 😉
    • Do an unassisted pull-up (Level 4): I have made progress towards this goal several time throughout my 30’s thus far, only to have each push derailed by a physical injury. This fall it was intercostal costochondritis. 0/10 I do not recommend. Perhaps the Fates don’t intend for me to accomplish this one, but once my doctor has given me the all clear, I’ll still certain to give it another go. Let’s just see how it plays out.

  • Consciousness Corner: Thoughts on 50/50

    We’ve been doing this whole 50/50 thing for over a full year now and in many ways the 2-2-5 has become the ‘new normal’ for us both. That said, I don’t think it will EVER get ANY easier to say Goodbye (for now) to #LittleLadyHolland when she leaves for the long-leg stretch of her time with her Dad & Stepmom.

    I have many married friends who have expressed to me that they would kill for some quiet, alone time in their own homes without any children to care for or partners to consider. And while I certainly understand that sentiment, 5 full days of solitude every other week usually feels like an overdose of alone-time for me. I think perhaps, it is one of those ‘grass is greener on the other side’ type of things, because despite being single-by-choice AND knowing Hols needs time with her other parents (+ genuinely wanting them to enjoy her presence as well), I am often envious of my friends’ partnerships and continuous access to their children.

    But we all know that the grass is TRULY greener only where it is waterer, so I’ve been trying harder in 2023 to really dig deep and honor these sans-Holland stretches with things, people, and experiences that bring me joy and fulfillment. I know I am a better mom to Holland when I am first and foremost caring, compassionate, and kind to myself.

    This morning we hugged goodbye outside the school and she ran back for one last round of kisses before disappearing into the building for another day of 2nd Grade. We both know that our Invisible String keeps us connected, even when we are miles apart.

    I will honor this phase of my #singlemomlife journey by making the absolute most of these next 5 days. But there is little doubt that I will also scroll through photos like this one on my phone and daydream about all the adventures that await us both when my Very Best Girl returns home. ❤️

  • Languishing

    Languishing

    In the year of our Lord 2023, I find myself happily languishing through a relatively still, easygoing era of my life. If you would have told me three years ago that I would spend 95% of my waking hours within the same four-walls, with largely just myself and my pets for company, I certainly wouldn’t wager that I was happy. But here I sit and quite frankly, it’s lovely.

    The daily theatre of my life is largely a one-woman show.
    I wake. I work. I relax. I sleep. And then I do it all over again.

    Of course, I also parent when my daughter is home, but between school, shared custody, and soccer practices, that time feels distinct, precious, and rarer than I prefer. I simultaneously exist in two parallel universes: In one, I am with my daughter; In the other, I must find a reason to still exist without her. This post is about my time in the latter universe.

    My waking hours are typically quiet and low-key.
    I watch a lot of television. I binge a lot of social media.
    I read a respectable number of books. I research a bunch of interesting things just for the hell of it.
    I start, and occasionally manage to finish, fun, ADHD-inspired projects.
    I accompany my 12-year old dachshund on delightful morning walks and I take wonderfully refreshing afternoon naps basically whenever I want them.

    Despite the regularity of my solitude, I assure you that I haven’t been completed isolated while in this Languishing Space. Notwithstanding the occasional calendaring conflict, I not only see my closest friends quite frequently but I also choose to regularly leave the comfortable confines of my home. These practices have helped me savor this time while also helping me avoid a slip into full Hermit mode. All in all, it has been a really, lovely time. Quite lovely. So lovely in fact that ─ despite instinctually knowing that it is time for something else ─ I hesitate to leave this behind.

    Sure, it can get a little quiet here, but at least I am at peace.
    I haven’t always felt peace you know.

    Sure, it can get rather lonely here but at least I am safe.
    I haven’t always felt safe you know.

    Sure, really amazing things might await me out there, but I really appreciate everything I’ve got here.
    I haven’t always appreciated what I have you know.

    But its clear now that I have tried to make a permanent home out of this temporary situation and like a Bear awakening in the Spring, I realize my Languishing Cave cannot sustain me much longer. If I stay, I will eventually starve. My carefully constructed refuge now only offers the illusion of safety. Lingering here too long will bring about my own ruin. And I know it.
    And yet…

    Each step away from this place of shelter and respite, brings closer the avoided feelings: Discomfort, Fear, Anxiety, Anger, Sadness.

    I want to write again, but what if its bad?
    Worse yet, what if its good?
    If its good and no one ends up reading it, will I be a failure? Again?
    If its good and people do read it, will they like it? Will they like me?
    Worse yet, what if they don’t? Will I be sad again? God, I don’t ever want to be that sad again.

    But the Bear cannot reacquaint herself with the cool, refreshing pleasures offered by nearby glistening waters until she sets her sight on the hills it nestles in between and she walks away from Winter’s den. So then I too should set out on this journey and hope the road I travel leads to new possibilities and maybe even second chances to delight in pleasures I’ve now forgotten.

    In this new era of my life, the daily theatre will still feature work, play, restoration, and slumber but there will be a new castmate: Discomfort. For me. And for others too.

    I don’t like that and frankly, it is a big part of why I think I have chosen to languish in the comfort of the here. The comfort of the now. The comfort of the quiet.
    I really don’t want to disappoint anyone. I really don’t want to hurt anyone.
    I really don’t want to offend anyone. I really don’t want to embarrass anyone.
    But I do really need to write words again. And I really do need to tell stories again.
    And I really do need to be able to express myself again.
    And I need to be able to do it without putting absolutely everyone’s comfort, peace, and well-being ahead of my own.

    I can no longer drown in the lives of others while waiting for lifelines they may never cast.

    And who knows, maybe this time I will be seen. Maybe this time, I will be appreciated.
    Maybe this time, I will be loved in the way that I love.
    That would be something, wouldn’t it?
    There are no promises, but there is certainly a chance.
    But there’s no chance without deliberate choice.
    So you see, I cannot languish here much longer. I cannot.
    I wish I could. I really, really wish I could.
    I’ve lived out a million invisible lifetimes trying to find a scenario in which I could linger in this languishing forever… And I cannot.

    Once upon a time, I was the type of person who would enjoy poking a sleeping bear just to delight in the surprise of it all. Maybe I should be that type of person again.

    I would like to know what happens when the Bear awakens. Really awakens. What then?
    Once she has rubbed the sleep from her eyes and shaken the last traces of Winter from her fur, what possibilities await her then? What wilds will she see? What adventures will she encounter?

    I don’t have answers yet, but on the breeze there are subtle notes of Spring’s renascent splendor and for the first time in a long time ─ in the year of our Lord 2023 ─ I don’t think I want to Languish here anymore.

  • Year 35

    Year 35

    A casual observer of my life since my 35th birthday would likely conclude that not much has changed in the past year. But I’ve got that insider knowledge yo and here’s the real dish: My entire world is different. I can see now that each of these changes ushered in a net positive outcome that has benefitted my life, but my ultimate appreciation cannot negate how hard it was. It has been a tough year y’all.

    In my 35th year, I lost partners, colleagues, friends, and lovers. There were moments I felt unfairly tossed aside, misjudged, and even outright abandoned. Throughout the year, I repeatedly found myself losing faith, trust, and respect for people, institutions, and systems that I had once held in high regard. And on more than one occasion, I was forced to admit that my life was waaaay out of balance: Far too often, I give much, much more than I take.

    But clarity eventually followed each perceived slight and with it, I deepened my closest relationships and began setting real boundaries on my time, attention, and in some cases — my affection. Looking back, I think my 35th year can be best characterized as a journey that ultimately allowed me to strengthen and further explore the most important relationship in my life: My relationship with myself.

    So while it may have gone unnoticed by casual observers, I can say with confidence that my life is radically different now than it was when I set out on my 35th trip around the sun. This year has certainly been a weird trip, but it did open my eyes to so many things worth seeing. So on my 36th orbit on this beautiful, space rock, I intend to explore and savor all I’ve found. Here’s to 36!

    My official 40 by 40 updates — including some significant progress updates are below. Enjoy!

    Write a (good) short story or novel (Level 1)

    So I did a thing a thing (that I do not want to talk about right now), but it suffices to say – I am officially marking this one off the list and I am really proud of myself. That said, the thing I did (which I promise to spill more on later) basically ensures that my writing goals no longer stop here. So with that said, wish me luck!

    Keep a garden alive for one full season (Level 1)

    This spring I bought two hanging baskets of flowers for my front porch. Not only did I keep these baskets alive all Spring and Summer, but I even brought one in for the fall (currently enjoying a sunny spot in my dining room) and repotted the other into a much larger array I am working on for next spring. I think I’ve got this one in the bag and who knows – I might just end up with a green thumb after all.

    Curate and maintain a stylish and versatile wardrobe that compliments my body type (Level 3)

    I have really defined my own personal style over the last several years and I now feel confident enough to mark this as complete. Of course, a wardrobe is never “complete” in the sense that it changes with seasons, trends, and of course, my own changing body. But the days of loading up my online cart full of fast-fashion a couple times a year are thankfully, long over for me. I now take immense pleasure in each item I introduce to my closet and I take great care in ensuring that items I part with either find a new home or are responsibly recycled. I presently thrift 99% of my personal clothing purchases, as well as approximately 90% of Holland’s clothing. My personal style – whether I’m sitting home alone or attending a black-tie gala – finally expresses my personality and suits my comfort/fit preferences.

    Take a girls only vacation (Level 3)

    One of the (very) few perks of divorce (if you can even call it that) is that there is another adult – whom you wholly trust – that is legally obligated to be responsible for your kid for specific windows of time. And yeah, custody schedules and parenting a kid in two homes isn’t exactly a walk in the park. BUT I decided a long time ago that I could either make lemonade with the lemons life dealt me, or I could slowly suffocate beneath the weight of the lemons. I chose the former and decided awhile back to view my “non-custodial” time to travel. This decision helped craft some of the best lemonade I’ve managed to make thus far! In year 35, I took two amazing trips that meet these qualifications and another one is just right around the corner. Last November, my college-friend Sara and I went to NYC to watch Hamilton and Harry Potter on Broadway! Then this March, my bestie (Alex) and I decided to spend spring break in Italy. And then late next week, I’m heading to Spain with another dear friend (Leah). I am so thankful that 30-year old Kate included this one on the list because it has truly inspired an entire lifestyle change for me post-divorce!

    Invest in luxury bedding (Level 3)

    I finally nailed this one after many, many missteps. I am planning on re-painting my master bedroom after the holidays and will share photos then, but suffice it to say that my bed is now definitely one of my happy places. I mixed a lot of brands to find my own perfect mix, but at the end of the day (literally) I now get to collapse into a hodgepodge of quilts, sheets, coverlets, and in the winter – electric blankets – that work for me. Psst! Get yourself a silk pillowcase and a weighted eye-mask too! You can thank me later.

    Notable Progress Updates:

    Visit three countries in Europe (Level 4)

    I have officially visited two out of three European countries. As a recap, I went to France for my best friend’s wedding back in 2018. This Spring, that same friend and I jumped on a jet plane and gave Europe another go! We flew into Rome and spent a few days exploring the eternal city before taking a train to Florence. While in Florence, we were able to get outside of the city and enjoy the stunningly beautiful Tuscan landscapes. Following (too little time in) Florence, another quick train ride took us to Venice where we sat on the rooftop each night talking and drinking red wine. Florence was, by far, my favorite of the three cities and I absolutely want to go back as soon as I can. Next time, I want to spend more time in Florence and I’d like to visit the Amalfi coast.

    Pay off all student debt (Level 4)

    Between year 30 and year 33 my double-income household helped me make significant progress on paying down my student loans. My ability to do so really took a hit when I became the de facto leader of a new, single-income household but thanks to loan student forbearance and Biden’s student loan forgiveness programs, it looks like I might get to officially retire all of my student debt in the next year. I am however, keeping my fingers crossed that some states (including my own state of Arkansas) do not derail these plans with their court challenges to Biden’s student debt relief.

  • Before 35

    Before 35

    My annual 40-by-40 update is officially six days overdue; I haven’t even started it. It is forthcoming, but considering I have only published one post since my last birthday post, I felt like a preface was needed:

    It has been a weird year.

    Looking back I can pinpoint specific moments or events that may have officially plunged me into this weird year, but that is of little help to me now. We don’t get to live our lives looking back do we?

    Like anyone else, my years on this planet can easily be divided into a certain number of phases (or, if you are a Swifty, an “era”). I’ve had the typical childhood, preteen, teen, and college phases, along with others based around education (i.e., my law school era) and relationships (i.e., my marriage era). And like any other human, I survived difficult phases that were constructed around trauma (childbirth), pain (depression), and loss (divorce).

    But before 35, I did the work. I really, really did the work.
    I did the therapy. I did the grieving. I did the processing. I did the journaling. I did the meditation. I did the affirmations. I did the healing. And so before 35, I was under the impression that my painstaking work had entitled me to handpick the next phase in my life. And I chose growth.

    Before 35, I knew without a doubt that all the love, light, and joy I had found would usher in this new phase in my life; An era of groundedness where I would settle into my new roots and well….grow!

    But as it turns out, growth can be a little weird.

    ……………….

    Contrary to my declaration against gardens in my last update post, I did flex my green thumb this year but I have found it mostly irksome thus far. Turns out plants are wildly more complicated than I imagined. In theory sun + water = happy plants, but in my personal experience, sun + water = dying or dead plants.

    I’ve learned that some plants like light, others don’t, and some demanding divas want their light filtered thankyouverymuch. You can overwater, underwater, and even water the wrong way. Soil composition, air quality, and the size/shape of the pot apparently factor into the healthy plant equation. And while I am still learning, I admit that I have killed the vast majority of plants that crossed my threshold this year (including the supposedly unkillable snake plant, aka mother in law tongue, aka dracaena trifasciata).

    In my defense, I did my best to save each of them. I tested soil, bought UV lights, and slipped watering reminders into my Google Home routine. Occasionally, my efforts would succeed; a few of my montessori variety plants even added new leaves. And while that is nice, it is difficult to see how these isolated successes will ever really manifest my houseplant daydreams.

    As it turns out, I have quite a bit in common with my houseplants; growth hasn’t come as easy to me as I once imagined it would.

    ……………….

    That’s why its been a weird year.
    That’s why I haven’t written here.
    I was prepared for a year of dazzling blooms and yet, my sprouts have barely broken through the soil, much less blossomed into anything beautiful.

    In theory, healing + passion = growth, but in my personal experience, healing + passion = here we go again goddamnit.

    As with my houseplant endeavors, I’ve had some isolated successes this year that have proven transformational in their own way. But I admit that it is hard to focus on the potential of these transformations when trauma, pain, and loss continue to echo throughout my daily life.

    It is difficult for me to see how I’ve grown when I’ve parted ways with dear, dear friends.

    It is difficult for me to see how I’ve grown when I’ve had my heart broken… again.

    It is difficult for me to see how I’ve grown when depression nips at my heels and the world descends into chaos.

    And in my defense, I tried really, really hard to save myself from each of those things. But they happened. They continue to happen. And it is difficult for me to see my own growth when in truth, I am no longer sure of which direction I want to grow in.

    So while in theory this was supposed to be a year of growth, my personal experience was a near bloomless one.

    But it is October (at least for a few more days) and having a birthday in October is a blessing. For as the trees lose their leaves, I am reminded that I too can let go of the things that no longer serve me.

    I am giving up the expectations for “growth” I had before 35.
    I haven’t bloomed yet but that’s okay.
    I still believe I will.
    One day.

    I don’t know what my blooms will look like or how long they will last.
    But I do know that the most beautiful blossoms take time and patience.
    And maybe filtered sunlight.

    And I definitely have two of the three.

  • Pivotal Moments

    Pivotal Moments

    I love having a plan.

    I do waiver on following through on the actual execution of my plans, but having a plan makes my insides glow warm and fuzzy nonetheless. There is something comforting about knowing what to expect and having a general idea of what challenges and opportunities you are likely to encounter on a journey.

    That said, I am flexible and can deviate from a plan when need be, but once I set my mind on a plan, I find deep peace in sticking as close to the original plan as possible.

    Notice I said “peace“. Plans bring me peace.

    When life lays waste to my carefully crafted plans, I may experience a complete absence of peace, but I do experience something else of true value: Personal Growth. Yes, transformational growth, which leads to greater joy (and ever so ironically, an abundance of peace), occurs not when I merely have to deviate from plans but when I’m forced into a complete pivot.

    A pivot, by definition, is merely a turn or a rotation but a “pivotable moment” is altogether more difficult to define. And yet, our human nature somehow allows us to easily recognize them.

    In college, I thought I would graduate and find an amazing job in corporate public relations and settle into a professional career debt free. But then 2008 happened and companies were not only not hiring new graduates but were actively laying off well qualified professionals. So I had to pivot and I did. I decided to go to law school. This of course, required a new plan that included student loans, a delayed entry into the workforce, and a physical move and relocation of my life just to name a few. But I grew and I found joy.

    After my daughter was born, I found myself completely ambivalent towards my then-legal career at a prestigious law firm. The plan I had carefully formulated and followed brought me a law degree, a bar number, and the job of my dreams but once I acclimated to it all… Well, I realized that it wasn’t fulfilling me in the ways I had always imagined and I found myself burned out and unmotivated. In came the pivot and I left that prestigious law firm (much to the surprise and dismay of many of my mentors and peers) to join the legal team of a brand new company. It was terrifying but it forced me to grow and doors I’d had never imagined began opening for me.

    When it was clear my marriage would end, I found myself in another dead-end with no choice but to pivot yet again. This time, the ask seemed higher though; I had to figure out what life could become instead of continuing to count on the life I had envisioned. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do but it grew me in ways that I am so goddamn thankful for and the journey has brought new joy, purpose, and love into my life.

    I’d like to say that particular pivotal moment was my last major pivotal moment but, that would of course, be a big fucking lie because that’s not how life works.

    COVID-19 happened.

    Heartbreak happened.

    Friendships ended.

    Pandemics ensued.

    Disappointment happened.

    Opportunities slipped through my grasp.

    Oftentimes, absolute chaos ensues and it seems as if the entire world has gone mad (And let’s face it, it has in a lot of ways.)

    Throughout the last two years, I’ve found myself constantly recalculating. I’ve scouted detours and new potential destinations. (And given the state of the world, I do not think for a moment that I’ve been alone in this endeavor.)

    Very recently, another set of “best laid plans” went awry for me and I was devastated, but in that pivotable moment I realized something of crucial importance: Everything is okay.

    Everything is okay not because I’ve already figured something else out — I haven’t. Sure, I’ve got pieces of a new plan formulating in my mind but right now, the entire path is far from illuminated.

    Rather, everything is okay because I can recognize this pivotable moment for what it really is: An opportunity.

    A chance to grow. A chance to adapt. A chance to encounter unexpected joys.

    So while my best laid plans have once again gone awry, I am eager to see how I grow into this new challenge and I am already thankful for all the unexpected joy that this new pivot is going to bring into my life.

    After all, pivots lead to growth…

    Growth leads to joy…

    And joy brings peace.

  • Year 34 + a twist

    Year 34 + a twist

    I put off starting this post quite a bit this year and had trouble putting my finger on why that was. I did want to write the post. I truly love this annual tradition of mine and this year has been eye-opening for me. I wanted to share more about it, but something seemed… off. I couldn’t place it.

    So I decided instead to “prepare” for writing this post. I determined the best preparation would be reading and re-reading my original 40 by 40 list, taking honest stock of what I did do, what I didn’t, and what I wish I had already done. But every time I revisited the list, I found myself struggling with that “off” feeling again and it sent me into a frustration spiral.

    One night last week, with my birthday looming, I laid in bed willing myself to focus on reading the last “Classic” necessary to technically cross another item off my list and it suddenly hit me: I no longer fully align with the woman who made the list.

    The original list was published shortly after my 30th birthday in 2016. That was the year I watched my daughter turn one and the year I first suspected (though couldn’t admit to even myself) that my marriage might not last. My job change that year that would ultimately put me on a professional path I had never before considered and along with the rest of the world, I watched the 2016 election unfold. I cried as one of my heroes gave her concession speech, and then held my breath to see what would happen next.

    A lot happened next.

    2016 and the version of who I was at 30 years old seems far, far away. We can all argue all day about how the world has changed in that handful of years, but I am certain of one thing: I am NOT the same woman who wrote that list.

    The world isn’t a static place full of static people with unchanging desires and dreams. I could spend the next five years of my life identifying all the ways I’ve changed in the past five years of my life only to find that the passed time had once again shifted my alignment.

    What I am trying to say is this: If I made a 40 by 40 list today, some of those same things may possibly make the cut, but not all of them would.

    With that realization, it started to seem rather silly that I felt obligated to check boxes off a list that another woman had written. Why would my annual reflection or self-critique be beholden to desires that I no longer have? Even more, how could I properly reflect on my own growth and awareness without holding myself accountable for working towards new dreams I discover along the way?

    So what does all this mean? Well, I’m not cutting any items from the list but I no longer feel compelled to complete them all either. Now I see each item as a time capsule reminding me of a moment when something in particular held my interest or attention. And I want to add new things to my list as I go because there is so much more I want to do on this side of 40 that 2016-me never even considered.

    So here’s my updates and additions. And I can honestly say that over the next five years, absolutely everything is subject to change:

    Purchase and Display Original Artwork from a Local Artist (Level 2)

    I did pick a local artist and friend (Looking at you Meg!) who I adore and discussed the piece I wanted with her earlier this year. But you know, life happens and it isn’t yet hanging in my house. That’s okay. The thought of it being there one day already makes me happy and I plan on sharing the shit out of it when it does finally grace my walls!

    Meet 5 “Internet Friends” in real life (Level 3)

    As an elder millennial, I remember a time where people thought it was weird to call people from the internet you’ve never met in person your friends. But between the lockdown and the pandemic, that ship has sailed and I will happily admit that I love so many people that I’ve never had the pleasure of embarrassing in public. Next week that will change though when the beautiful Natalie Kristeen comes to the Natural State! I absolutely cannot wait!

    Invest in Luxury Bedding (Level 3)

    Over the last 5 years I have bought multiple sets of expensive sheets and duvets all boasting high ratings and long lists of happy customers. And yet, I still find myself regularly sleeping on Target brand sheets and curling up for the night with a fuzzy blanket from my sofa. So, this is officially a cry for help: Help me find luxury bedding that I don’t hate y’all. I sleep hot so I prefer cool sheets. I am needy so I prefer something weighted. And I have a toenail that can get a little snaggly at times so durability is a must. Oh, and I like my fitted sheet to be TIGHT. Super tight. No oversized saggy mess over here. So feel free to hit me up with any (and all) suggestions at this point. I’m beyond tired of spending money only to end up disappointed and back at Target.

    Go Scuba Diving (Level 4)/Take a girls only vacation (Level 3)

    Check, check, and CHECK! This summer I had the pleasure of taking my very first dive trip in Bonaire with some amazing women and friends. Was it perfect? Nope. But life seldom is. There were hiccups along the way (including at at least three missed flights) but at the end of the day, I got to experience something I’ve always wanted to experience and it was pretty damn cool. So I’m pretty damn happy about it.

    List Additions (For Now):

    Get Published- My original list included writing something small for myself that I was proud of and that was nice. But I’ve done that time and time again and I want to challenge myself to more so I am officially expanding the original item: I’d like to be published. I’m working on a variety of things and one day, I want others to read them because quite frankly, I think the things I have to say are worthy of hearing. A younger version of myself never would have said that and I think that kind of growth is pretty fucking cool.

    Climb a Tree – I get how crazy this makes me sound but I don’t care. As a kid, I loved to climb trees. Hell, I literally used to climb a tree in my backyard and write poetry in a notebook made of homemade paper. Somewhere along the road to adulthood, I stopped climbing trees and I’m not even sure why. So the next time I see a tree that is begging to be climbed, I want to go for it without hesitation. Life is too short to not climb the tree.

    Low Priorities (For Now):

    Keep a garden alive for one full season (Level One) – I have no desire to be Annie Oakley; I am a city girl who enjoys the farmer’s market and my lawn guy in equal measure. I don’t see myself learning the intracentries of fertilizer anytime soon but I suppose I can never say never.

    Renew wedding vows (Level 2) – I hate to be the one to break the news, but I’m divorced. And my ex-husband is remarried. So, the odds of renewing the wedding vows we exchanged when I was 26 is approximately… Zero. In truth, I’m not sure I am the marrying-type anymore. I suppose only time will tell. Either way, I’m not losing sleep over not being able to cross this one off the list.

    Curate and maintain a stylish and versatile wardrobe that
    compliments my body type (Level 3)     – Pssst! Guess what? What compliments my body changes over time because my body changes over time! Bless the innocent heart I had at 30 thinking that once I was done having kids I would fall into a steady routine and maintain the same figure the rest of my life. But I do enjoy reducing my carbon footprint through thrifting and experiencing with styles I once considered too out of the box for me. So all in all, I like where I’m at with this one for now.

    ____________________________

    So that’s the end of 34. As I enter into my 35th year, a recent TikTok keeps popping up in my mind. It declared that your 20’s aren’t your prime, but are instead the primer. I like that but I want to add to it. If your 20’s are the primer, your 30’s are for experimenting with color. Enjoy in some haphazardness and don’t worry too much about drop cloths or taping off the corners. It’s just paint babe. You are always capable of adding another layer.

    So what do you say?

    Let’s all go experiment in color this year!

  • The Filler of Cups

    The Filler of Cups

    I like to consider myself a practical person.

    I learned a long time ago to wear comfortable shoes if I was going to be on my feet a long time. I figured out that I should drink my coffee before noon if I want to have any chance at sleeping before 2 a.m. And I taught myself to never read the comment section. Well, almost never.

    In addition to being practical, I am a logical woman.

    I believe in science and reason. I listen to the experts. And of course, I only subscribe to a very, very limited number of conspiracy theories.

    All of that said, over the last year, there has been something that has brought me solace despite it’s inability to adhere to any of my preconceived notions of reality or soundness.

    You see, in April of 2020, facing the prospect of being confined alone in my house with a small child for the foreseeable future, I decided I needed a new hobby. Like any good elder-millennial, I turned to the internet to find “Top Quarantine Hobbies for 30-Something Single Moms Working 80 Hours a Week and About to Lose Their Shit!” I came away from that search with four distinct possibilities:

    Puzzles. Embroidery. Learning to actually do makeup. And tarot cards.

    The puzzles were fun for a bit. But my cats would occasionally carry away pieces in the middle of the night and nothing robbed my OCD brain of joy quite like a puzzle I couldn’t complete.

    The embroidery was also neat. I made several things – all from patterns – and while I was pretty decent at it all, I quickly learned that I could either have fingertips that weren’t constantly bleeding or I could embroider. There was no in between.

    I turned to makeup next and that was a ride. After dropping a good chunk of my personal GDP at various online retailers, I learned that there are somethings that a woman who once wore bright blue mascara in public (thanks middle school) might just not be destined to learn. Sure, I got the basics of contouring (pretty legit by the way) but no part of me will ever be able to draw winged eyeliner that is suitable for public display.

    That left me with tarot. I initially bought a deck from a local retailer because they were having a clearance sale and clearance sales speak to my soul in a way nothing else quite does. I spent two days just looking through the cards and questioning my sanity. After that, I bought a few how-to books but even narrowing those down was an intimidating task. I did manage to settle on a few favorite books and would spend my evenings reciting the meaning of the Major Arcana cards in my hot, bubble bath. Within a few weeks, I realized my clearance deck of cards weren’t going to be the best starter set (they were beautiful, but not for me) so I bought a second deck off Etsy and decided to start with a simple “one card a day” pull.

    I’d awake in the morning and after tending to the necessities, I would shuffle and pull a card. I’d look at it a bit giving myself time to listen to my instinct. I didn’t then (and still do not) expect the cards to somehow predict my life or give me the winning lottery numbers. No, rather, I came to rely upon them as a helpful tool in reflection, discovery, and even meditation.

    This month marks my one-year anniversary with my tarot deck so to speak. Or should I say, decks. I have multiple now. Each serving a different purpose. I also have journals for my daily pulls and notebooks full of reminders and curiosities from more in-depth self-readings. I have even, on occasion, read the cards for close friends.

    Yesterday, I pulled the 5 of Cups. If you search for the image, you will find a hooded figure appearing to mourn three empty chalices despite the fact that two others – potentially full – stand to the right. For daily draws, I use the Modern Witch Tarot deck and the woman on the card actually looks a bit like me. As I studied the card yesterday morning and reflected on myself and my life, I could clearly see a connection. One of sorrow. One of loss. One of grief. But of course, one of hope. Yes, the fallen chalices are empty but they are not broken and she stands in the presence of an abundance of water. It is okay for her to be upset about what she has lost or perhaps, what she worked hard for that never came to fruition. I feel her frustration. I understand her resentment. We don’t know how her cups spilled. An accident perhaps, but there is also the distinct possibility that it was not. Either way, it evokes in me a sense of unfairness. Unfair situations suck. They are draining. They make you question everything including yourself.

    But in I also see the bright colors peaking from beneath her dark coat and the determination in her jawline. She will not stand there for much longer. No. She will take off her coat, roll up her sleeves, and she will refill her soul with every ounce she collects for her cups. I get the sense that she has done it before and that she will do it again and again. Not because she has to do so. But because it is what she does. More than that, it is who she is. She fills life to the brim — for herself and for others.

    And you know what? So do I.