categorically kate

Category: live easy

  • 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.
  • 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.

  • 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.

  • A “Swift” End to 2020

    A “Swift” End to 2020

    This year has been objectively terrible. This isn’t groundbreaking news nor would it be groundbreaking writing to share with you all the ways this year was specifically terrible for me.

    It sucked for everyone. In all kinds of ways. And no one’s journey navigating this shitstorm should be made to feel inferior or invalid simply because someone else also navigated a shitstorm. We were ALL covered in shit.

    I also will not use my last blog post of 2020 to wade through the shit in attempts to find the shiny things. Yes. They exist. Yes. We are all grateful for their existence. But not screaming about them from the rooftops doesn’t make us ungrateful jerks. So not doing that either.

    No. I’m going to use this final post in 2020 to do something else entirely — do a brain dump about specific songs from two specific albums by one specific artist for no particular reason.

    Unless you lost internet access in 2020, you probably know that Taylor Swift released not one but two surprise albums this year. And like most basic white women, they’ve been on repeat both in my head and my home since their release dates. (Fun fact though, per my Spotify annual wrap-up, only ONE T. Swift song breached my top five. So 2020 has been heavy on the music therapy for me y’all!) And while I am well aware that she has both fangirls and haters, this post isn’t for neither of them. Go in-fight amongst yourselves elsewhere.

    Nope. I just want to write about a few of the songs on these albums that spoke to be personally. That’s it. That’s how I want to end 2020. A little analysis. A little reminiscing. And then BOOM! Let’s put a bow on this sucker and WRAP IT UP!

    Exile (featuring Bon Iver) – Folklore

    It is no surprise that this song hit hard for me given the circumstances of my life over the last 24-months or so. Part of why I found the song so beautifully haunting is that I could so easily relate to both of the roles within it. In fact, each time I listen to it, I find myself flitting between the characters wanting better for both of them and also wanting them to be better themselves. As with other songs in this post, I feel like this one does such a beautiful job at pointing out that perspective matters so much. In Exile, the perspective is raw and it’s limited. For each character. But for each it is also valid; neither felt heard or seen and in the end, both are in exile from the very person who once brought them the deepest solace — their homeland. And exile hurts.

    Mad Woman – Folklore

    While it isn’t Taylor’s first “burn it all to the ground” song, I feel like she really pulled off something special with this particular bit of music. It’s a quiet fury. Somehow simultaneously controlled and unbridled. And for me personally, it hit on so many fronts this year. Anger at the pandemic and the personal choices that has prolonged it and taken so many lives. Anger at being a single mom in the middle of a global pandemic who is expected to work (more than) full-time, parent flawlessly, make perfect decisions that everyone agrees with and I don’t know — find time to shower? It has been a year of so many things but the beautiful way that she managed to capture the seething but somehow contained fire within women right now — wow! Just stunning.

    Peace – Folklore

    I totally get that this song is written about Taylor’s own life – her inability to provide a partner with true “peace” because of who she is and what she does. I know that logically. But I often find myself feeling like it was written specifically for me too. I am not, nor will I ever be, a superstar mobbed by photographers or written about in magazines. But in my own way, I’ve feel that I too can never really offer peace to partners and friends. Maybe none of us can. And maybe that’s okay. Each time I hear this song I find myself not only accepting that fact but embracing it. The devil is in the details but in the end, I know I stand in the trenches with those who also stand with me. And I like the company the keep.

    Tolerate It – Evermore

    Have you ever heard something and upon hearing it, realized that it put into words something you couldn’t fully comprehend you even felt? That was Tolerate It for me. I’ve discovered the best way for me to process a new album has been to run a hot bath and play it from start to finish while reading the lyrics. I tell you that so you can fully appreciate the visual of me – relaxed with a glass of merlot in a hot bath — and then nearly dropping my phone in the water when she crooned, “I know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it” for the first time. I nearly lost my mind. I know that sounds like a dramatic reaction to a song but I don’t care. It was. The entire song helped me identify aspects about myself that I had been struggling to even acknowledge. And while it is no secret that I am a big fan of therapy, let’s just say that this song alone helped me make some mental connections that I had been struggling for YEARS to understand. Thank you Taylor.

    Happiness – Evermore

    Anyone who has actually listened to these albums and knows anything about my life could have easily predicted that I would become entranced by this song. The raw emotion of it and lines like, “I was dancing when the music stopped” could bring anyone to their knees — much less a divorced single-mom. But one of the most beautiful things about this song for me personally, is how it showed me just how far I’ve come since my music stopped. While I related to so much of it, I also realized that unlike the narrator in the piece — I have met the new me. And not only have I met her, I’ve learned so much about her. I respect and love her on a level that I was wholly incapable of in the past. And that “reinvention” as she calls it, has been the most brutal and beautiful transformation of my life thus far. I don’t blame her for not wanting to face it. I didn’t want to either. I had to though and she knows she does as well. But yes. I can confirm. There is happiness.

    ——–

    So that’s it. That’s how I want to close out this terrible, awful, transforming year. These aren’t all the songs on these albums (or hell — any others) that have helped me tune into my own fury, peace, and growth over the past twelve months. They aren’t even necessarily my favorite songs on these two particular albums. They are though, the songs that I wanted to include here – in this particular list. So I did. Not necessarily because I think any of my readers would be interested in them or because I think my perspective offers any sort of fresh take on any of it. None of that. Nope. Just for me. It is what I wanted to write about so I did.

    And if you’ve read this far I’m going to assume that you have also spent some time with these albums this year. So as we close out this shitstorm let me just say…

    Long story short, it was a bad time. Long story short, [we] survived.

  • Year 33

    Year 33

    If I am granted the opportunity to reminisce in old age about my youth, I feel like I will point to my thirty-third year as one of great turmoil, pain, change; but also ultimately a year of tremendous growth. With that said, I’m going to cut myself some slack deem it wholly acceptable that my annual 40 by 40 update is an entire month late. It’s 2020.

    Anything goes y’all.

    To start however, I feel compelled to look back briefly to last year’s birthday celebration. I went out to dinner with friends. We ate, laughed, opened presents, and shared cake. It was casual, but nice. I knew that my world was up in the air but I still longed for the status quo to return. In the days following that celebration however, I was unexpectedly served with divorce papers and my life was upended in more ways than I could imagine. Looking back now, I scarcely recognize my former self and for that, I am surprisingly grateful.

    The gloriousness that has been 2020 began soon after and so many plans I made — including plans to mark scuba diving off my 40 by 40 list — got cancelled. And while a lot has been taken from me (and quite frankly, the entire world) in the past year, I feel like I have personally been gifted with so much more. Clarity. Resolve. Love. And as of late, deep Peace and Acceptance. I’m hopeful that my thirty-fourth year will find me diving deeper into this new life of mine and committing more fully to the path I long to pursue. But for now, an update:

    Put a Wild Color Streak(s) in my hair (even if temporary) (Level 1)

    When April rolled around and it became very clear that normal 9 to 5 office hours would not be taking place, I decided there was no better time to truly mark this one off my list. I did some research and ended up ordering Overtone in Pink for Brunettes. I already had several lighter portions of my hair from previous highlights, etc. The Overtone color accentuated these and became the most pleasant rosy pink. I rocked the pink for nearly three months (most notably in the COVID-friendly porch photoshoot Holland and I did before we sold our other home) and then decided to chop all my hair off and start fresh. It was a lot of fun for me and I would not rule out using another fun color in the future. Who says that you can’t be a little wild in your 30’s?

    Get a Holland related tattoo (Level 2)

    Last December I finally took the plunge and got the ink that had been on my mind since the early days after #LittleLadyHolland was born. One night while nursing at some ungodly hour, I stumbled across a poem on Pinterest entitled On Children by Kahlil Gibran. I remember rocking Holland while I read it and tears streamed down my face. It was the most stunning depiction of the weight of parenthood that I had encountered. I knew immediately I wanted to have something to remind me of my sacred duty — as the stable bow — inked onto my skin. I’m so happy I finally did it!

    Officially speaking, those are the only two additional items I can truly cross off the list this year. I know. I’m running behind. That said, I do have high hopes for 2021 and without giving too much away, I’m hoping that my Year 34 update will include notes about my progress (or completion) of the following items on my 40 by 40 list.

    Level 1:

    Write a (good) short story or novel

    Read 3 “classics” I haven’t read before

    Perfect homemade biscuit recipe

    Level 2:

    Purchase and display original artwork from a local artist

    Writ/Send Letters to 3 mentors who have impacted my life

    Level 3:

    Invest in luxury bedding

    Level 4:

    Pay off all student debt

    Celebrate New Year’s Eve in a big city

    Go scuba diving

    Do an unassisted pull-up

    If that seems like quite a bit to work on during my thirty-fourth year, well, it is. Perhaps it is a little too ambitious. But that’s okay. I’ve done so many things this year that I never thought I’d have to do in my 30’s including surviving a divorce, buying a new home alone, and solo parenting while working full-time (and remote!) during a global pandemic.

    If my 33rd year has taught me anything, it is that I am — eh, we — we are capable of the impossible. So let’s speak positivity and light into 2021 for ourselves and our loved ones. I’ve got this. And so do you.

    #LFG

  • the road to my village

    the road to my village

    A little over two years ago, I shared a post about how lonely and hard parenting was without a village. I lamented that I was often exhausted and cranky; and that I longed for the little island I lived on to somehow find connection with another shoreline. When I think back to that time now, I can still remember the pangs of loneliness and the ever-present struggle to keep everyone’s head above water. Everyone’s that is, except mine.

    I wanted nothing more than to make tomorrow a better day — an easier day — for the people I loved. This desire was all consuming; a mental quagmire that I navigated daily but never seemed to make much headway with despite my efforts.

    So much has changed in my life since that post. For starters, I got divorced. Then I sold the only home my sweet daughter had ever really known and embarked on new adventures in a new (to us) home that I purchased alone. And of course, COVID. No one has escaped its impacts but my little family has certainly been more fortunate than others.

    With all of these changes, it would be reasonable for me to feel even more isolated these days. It would make sense if I found solo-parenting to be overwhelming. I don’t think a single person would a hold it against me if I wanted to moan about how lonely it is to be a party of one in the middle of a global pandemic. There would be no shame in admitting any of these.

    But two years after writing that post, I can say with complete honesty that I feel more supported and loved than ever before. I think, in large part, this is because I have discovered my village.

    My village stretches far and wide. It includes people I technically have never met (or perhaps do not see often) but who have nonetheless become pillars of support. We talk about parenting and divorce. We trade coffee recommendations and terrible first date stories. We send care packages, cards and theories about the newest Taylor Swift album. They infuse my life with levity.

    My village has family in abundance. Family that helps me do amazing things for my daughter that I’d never be able to pull off all alone. Family that laughs with us on video chats when COVID prevents us from sharing embraces. Family that asks about my day and then really listens to the answer. Together, this extended family I have been blessed with, by both birth and choice, gives me an unwavering sense of belonging and stability that I’ve craved for a long time.

    My village overflows with more friendships than I dare count:

    Friends I’ve made through my work with Moms Demand Action who have enveloped me with love and care all while keeping my head level and uplifting my spirit in difficult times by consistently challenging me to see the good we can do in this world. College friendships (some recently rekindled) that fill my empty tank and replenish my mind, body, and soul by reminding me of who I was when I was younger — a woman who I admit, I lost sight of for far too long. And friends I’ve made from other walks of life — law school, work, random encounters — who go out of their way to remind me of my worth. But even more, they consistently demand that I give myself the same grace and space that I so freely provide to others. I sometimes try to reflect on how desperate I was two years ago for a single, deep connection with another human being; now these relationships are so abundant that it is difficult to remember precisely how it feels to not be truly loved and supported by the people in my life.

    I’ve been quiet on the blog for the last several months, in part, because I’ve been trying to piece together exactly how this amazing village has come into my life. I have reached three conclusions: 1) I broke free of abusive cycles and persons; 2) I prioritized myself for the first time in a long time; and 3) I learned how to ask for (and accept) help.

    I could write ad nauseam on the first two of those conclusions. They have certainly transformed my life and are worthy of further discussion. Perhaps one day I will share more on those but for now, I want to focus on the last one.

    I’ve never been good about asking for help. As far back as I can remember, my pride has been rooted in the knowledge that I am a strong, independent woman; I concluded (quite falsely) that seeking help from others would undercut this attribute. I mistakenly saw unsolicited offers of help as acts of pity and therefore believed acceptance of such offers would be acknowledgment of weakness. I held tight to the false notion that carrying all of it, all by myself, was somehow the key to freedom.

    But instead of setting me free, these beliefs left me shackled.

    Last summer, with my marriage falling apart and my island smaller than ever before, I found myself in a very undesirable position — in desperate need of help. The universe left me with no choice to send up flares and request assistance. I can still remember how my stomach knotted as I admitted the truth to others and the shame I experienced as I confessed that I could no longer do it all by myself. But oddly enough, what I remember even more clearly is just how quickly my tears cleared and my fears lifted as the people in my life — sometimes people I had purposely kept at a distance for years — rushed to give me anything they could. In the process of losing life as I knew it, I found something I had not had in a very long time: Unconditional Love.

    Sure, it’s cheesy enough to hear on a poorly written Lifetime movie (which I hope my blog doesn’t remind you of), but I have been liberated from my prideful shackles by pure love. I know now that help is love and love is help.

    I cannot begin to count the ways my newfound village has poured their love out to me and to my daughter, in the past fourteen months. Help with mundane tasks, house projects, and childcare. Help that propelled me forward when I was stuck. Help that held me steady when the road became expectantly rocky. Help that was freely offered to me and yes…help that, with time and practice, I’ve learned to ask for.

    I did not come to any of these realizations overnight. I will admit there are still moments I feel a wave of guilt when my load is lightened because someone else willingly picks up a burden. In those moments however, I’m finding I can acknowledge my misguided instinct, identify it as not only unnecessary but also harmful, and then release it entirely; focusing instead on the love poured into me and the love I pour out to others who are likewise happy to accept. Because that’s what a village does. And I no longer live on an island. I live in a village .

    And just in case you are wondering, I am still a strong, independent woman — even if my neighbor occasionally brings in my trashcan.

  • “five”

    “five”

    This is the fifth (and final) in a series of posts (parts one, two, three & four here) recounting the men that I’ve romantically loved in my life, the differences between them, and what lessons each experience has left with me. In every relationship there are two experiences and each of my posts only intended to capture my personal experience both in and out of each relationship. Please read knowing that each of these men likely also has a story that could very well differ from my own, either in whole or in part, and that their stories are either not known or not expressed on this personal blog.

    Back in early April, I sat down at my computer and decided I wanted to do this series. My life looks so sweepingly different than it did a mere twelve months ago, and it was difficult for me to fully process all the changes that had so rapidly occurred. After talking with my therapist about this difficulty, I decided I wanted to further explore myself, my feelings, my experiences, and my healing processes as each related to significant relationships in my life. As I’ve mentioned before, writing has always been a form of therapy for me – almost impulsive. At times, it is like I am uncertain of how I even feel until my fingers begin dancing along the keyboard and it suddenly becomes clear; I feel this deep desire to create, craft, and cultivate my reality into words.   

    I wrote initial drafts of all four posts the same day. Then, in the week prior to its publication, I would revisit each post individually so I could revise it appropriately. I spent that week mediating on that particular relationship as well as that general time in my life. I ultimately found that each of the posts softened (sometimes significantly so) under this week of review. I was able to perceive each relationship differently and with more compassion and sympathy for my previous partner after a full week of deep reflection. I also caught a lot of typos. I’m bad about typos. Just ask my boss.

    When I sat down on that first day to write, I did initially entertain the idea of including a theoretical “five” post but couldn’t see how it would look or what it would bring to the series. I didn’t even know at first if I wanted the series to end in a positive note or a bitter one. But over the last month and a half of processing and reflection, a “five” post slowly came into focus and I realized that I wanted to write and share it as well. Spoilers – it’s positive.

    It shouldn’t be all that surprising that the level of reflection required to write and publish this series has given me deep insight about myself. Some may think that this series has been about the men. They would be wrong. It hasn’t. Each of them has only been a conduit I’ve used to more fully understand myself. You see, each reflection in this series – from the beginning – has always truly been about me:

    Reflection on One helped me see that sometimes heartbreak – as painful as it can be – is oftentimes for the greater good. It taught me that I wasn’t always a head-strong, independent woman who wanted to forge my own path in life. I reminded me that I was once someone so insecure or oblivious to myself and my own needs, that I would have given anything to keep a relationship with someone I loved afloat. I know now that I’ve grown since those days. I know who I am, what I want, and I have the capacity and confidence to verbalize both to any future partners.  

    Reflection on Two helped remind me that most of time relationships fail because both people are not on the same page. It showed me that I had been cruel in not owning my feelings and being honest with my partner. I now know how to walk away from someone I care about in a respectful and honorable fashion when it doesn’t feel right. I can clearly see that sometimes, in our efforts to not hurt someone, we hurt them even more. I’ve made these mistakes. I admit them. And now, I can move forward with a clear conscience and better judgment.    

    Reflection on Three reminded me just how hard I am willing to fight to save the things (and people) that matter most to me. But also, how that’s not always a good thing. I realize now that some of the parts of myself I was willing to sacrifice to uphold a vow of til death do us part are offerings that should never be placed upon the alter of any healthy relationship. It impressed upon me that I oftentimes lack the ability to set expectations in my intimate relationships. That’s something that I want to continue to work on so that it doesn’t plague me in future relationships. I can see now that I sometimes cut away pieces of myself in an effort to protect or help my partner – but doing so doesn’t really help them or me; it is a false sense of security at best.

    Reflection on Four reminded me that dealbreakers are dealbreakers for a reason and that I shouldn’t excuse things away (in myself or others) in the name of love. It also taught me that I shouldn’t let my heart get so far out in front of my head. Hearts, despite our best intentions, are fragile things – so willing to trust what makes them flutter. But our minds are different. They wake us up in the middle of the night full of doubts that we oftentimes dismiss by the morning sunrise. I now know that things are not always what they seem to be for a variety of reasons. I’ve learned that in the most intimate of relationships, intentions can be wildly misconstrued by everyone involved if there isn’t frank discourse. I’ve also discovered that I am not only capable of such discourse, but I now crave it in a way that I had not experienced until now.

    You see, these things aren’t about men – they are about what I once lacked or misunderstood. These are things I want to do or continue to work on – not for One, Two, Three, Four or even a future “five”. No. I want to do them simply for myself. The whole experience of writing and editing this series impressed upon me that the only relationship I can truly guarantee I will have for my life, is the one with myself. Significant others (as well the people in other types of relationships) are always free to come and go as they please. Even bigger than that, no day is guaranteed to any of us and at any moment those most dear to us could be taken in the most tragic and senseless of ways. No amount of good intentions, promises, precautions, or even vows alters that hard truth. And since you have no control over the needs, desires, disasters or experiences of any other person, I’ve discovered that it is best (I’d even go as far as to say, necessary) for an individual to only prep himself or herself for a lifetime of commitment to themselves. No other person.

    And as worthy as I think it has been to reflect on the past, I think it is equally worthy to contemplate the future. Specifically, how after decades of self-doubt, I can now see what I will bring to the table with any future “five”. 

    As women in our culture, I think many of us have reservations (in some form or fashion) of having the confidence in ourselves to state boldly what we bring to a relationship. Men, I’ve found, are quite eager to tell us about all their good qualities. Of course, most of them haven’t been conditioned by society to constantly doubt themselves and their abilities. None of them have been told that being bold and confident equates to being a bitch. Most men have never been asked to hold their tongue or to think carefully about how they describe themselves to others. I have always found this intriguing in men, yet I’ve never once felt the desire to think about myself in such terms. Until now. Now, I can see my worth and I can see yours. As women, we bring a lot to the table. We don’t often talk about it. We usually downplay it. But I don’t think we should anymore. Let’s be honest about ourselves. I’ll start: 

    I love hard and I am faithful. When I make a commitment, I honor it and expect the same in return. No matter what. I love the people in my life and often worry on their behalf. If I care for someone, I cannot simply turn off that facet of myself. I do everything in my power to make their lives easier, happier, and more fulfilling. If I know someone is struggling in some capacity, I have a drive to fix it for them. I expect “I’m home” texts from the people I love and if you give me any cause to be concerned about you – any at all – I will be. The very core of my nature is to love hard; to be true and faithful. I will never be made to feel ashamed of these qualities.

    I am financially independent. I don’t need anyone to pay my bills. Not a one. I’m good sir. Anything you bring to the table in that respect is just icing on the cake that I baked and am already enjoying.  

    I am an amazing mother. Motherhood is the hardest thing I’ve ever been tasked with and sometimes, I mess it up.  None of us are perfect. But I apologize when I’m wrong – usually directly to my daughter – and I work hard (especially when I falter) to show my daughter the type of woman I want her to grow up to be. I don’t get it right every day, but I wake up every day and try my best to get it right. No one compares to my daughter and anyone who wants me will have to prove themselves to her as well.  

    I’m emotionally secure. I’ve done the hard work. No wait – I do the hard work. Our mental and emotional health isn’t a one-time box we can check off and forget. I am incredibly privileged to have the financial ability to seek therapy and guidance from professional third parties – and I do. Openly. Without fear of judgment or reprisal. And most importantly, I do not do so for other people. I do it for myself. I understand that I owe it to myself to sort through what life throws at me to the best of my ability. Life is never static. Neither is mental health.

    I am independently happy and healthy. I do not look to my partner to provide these things for me. Once in my life, I did. But now, I can find solace in spending an entire day alone reading books or working in the garden. I am comfortable and happy in my own skin and do not require validation or approval from anyone. I can now (this one is rather recent) prioritize my physical health and not allow my standards to wax or wane with the circumstances of my life. I see how my physical health impacts other parts of my life and it is not something I’m willing to give up again.  

    So now I want you to think about what you bring to the table. I guarantee it is far more than you give yourself credit for – whether you are in a relationship or not. This whole series, for me, has been an exercise in honest self-reflection; a necessary tool in our tool-belts that we don’t pull out as much as warranted.  

    It is true that I do not know who “five” might be or if he even exists. There could never be a “five” at all. Or maybe there is, but he is followed by a “six,” “seven,” and “eight” as well. I used to think that I needed to be certain of these things. To nail them down so that I could have a sense of peace that everything would be alright. But truthfully, I don’t know these things and that’s okay. Because I do know Kate. And let’s just say, I’m impressed with her.  

    “More than anything, I know that you just have to choose to make the best of things. You get one life, and it only goes forward. And there really are all kinds of happy endings.”

    – Katherine Center

  • The Misunderstood Value of Female Friendships

    The Misunderstood Value of Female Friendships

    So many things in 2019 have forced me to stop and take stock of my life decisions. I’ve spent countless hours pouring over all the choices I’ve made through the years in an effort to capture what went wrong or, better said, where I lost myself along the way. And while a few of these decisions are clear-cut and I can now resolve not to stray from the path again, one haunts me: Why did I give up my girlfriends?

    The common excuse of course, would be that life is busy. Being a full-time mom, attorney, and wife (not to mention daughter and sister) left me with fewer hours to spread around. And while that’s perhaps the easiest, and most commonly accepted rationale, when I dive into it, it just doesn’t hold water.

    If time alone accounted for my decision, then how do I explain the fact that in the same time period, I watched and re-watched the entire Parks & Recreations series… like four times? That’s 125 episodes of let’s just say, approximately 20 minutes each. That means that I spent 2,500 hours (or a little over 104 days) of my life over the past several years just watching one show that brings me joy. When I break it down like that (not to mention all the other countless hours I’ve wasted on re-watching shows or scrolling through social media) the truth becomes clear — it just isn’t solely about time.

    So I continued to turn this question over and over in my head, until I arrived at a hard and uneasy truth: I didn’t understand or appreciate the value of female friendships.

    That stings to admit to myself, much less publish for all to read. After all, the All-Encompassing Power of Female Friendships are well documented and are embraced by feminists the world over. So why then have I spent years of my life discounting or ignoring them?

    I think the fault lies within myself of course. Like the vast majority of women in America, I grew up feeling inadequate. Society, including the people closest to me, constantly sent me subliminal messages that I alone, wasn’t enough. I wasn’t pretty enough. My breasts were big enough. My stomach wasn’t flat enough. My features weren’t dainty enough. I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t funny enough. I was instead, merely Kate and that alone seemed inadequate.

    And where did I seek comfort for feeling inadequate? Sadly, it was typically from the very source of those inadequate feelings. Don’t feel fit enough? Here, read all these magazine articles featuring fitness models that you’ll never look like and follow this easy 10-minute routine each night before bed. Don’t feel funny enough? Well, self-deprecating humor is a cure-all. It always gets a laugh and has a built in trigger to keep your self-esteem in complete check. Don’t feel pretty enough? No problem. Find a dude who will tell you aloud that you are beautiful and then turn that into a relationship even though it may not suit either of you.

    None of that is to say that I haven’t had my share of female friends over the year. I have — Growing up. In college. In law school. And even now. But during each of those phases of my life, I didn’t allow the amazing women I knew to play the role they were born to play and in return, I certainly didn’t do the same for them. More directly, I did not realize that for female friendships to have power over our lives and our destinies, we have to first, hand them the torch.

    So what does that look like?

    I’m still learning this honestly, but I think I’m getting better at it. It means checking in with friends – not out of obligations, but out of genuine care and concern for them. It means asking for a lunch date – not just because you need to vent about life but because you want to hear about theirs. It means showing up to events not because there is anything in it for you, but rather, because it means something to them and that alone is worth schlepping across town in the middle of winter. It means admiring qualities in females without envying them. It means realizing their path is not yours and that’s okay. It means stepping out of the spotlight so that it can shine on your fellow female instead. It means realizing that judgment – of them or of yourself – only serves to benefit those who cares about neither.

    Each time I’ve done these things, I am stunned at how the universe returns the favor. I’ve literally had my breath taken away by the stunning generosity and care I’ve received from women who, quite frankly, didn’t owe me a damn thing.

    I used to think that the single most important relationship in your life was your partnership. Your marriage. I used to think that you should prioritize it over everything else, because at the end of the day, the kids grow up and friends move away, but your partner is always your partner.

    But perhaps it isn’t healthy to have a “single most” important relationship. Maybe that’s the fallacy that causes us (or well, caused me at least) to give up on the girlfriends in my life. What if by insisting on such a thing, you and any such relationship, are inherently made less healthy and whole?

    Like me, you are a beautifully complex and magnificent creature. You read that correctly. (As women, we’d do well to remind ourselves of it more often.) One person cannot possibly understand and appreciate the complete wonder that you contain. Frankly, it is irresponsible to place that burden on a single set of shoulders. Plus, that wonder within you aches to learn and to grow from the experiences of other women. It desires to support another woman on her journey. It craves a type of validation, care, and understanding that an intimate partner simply cannot provide.

    I’ve seen the error of my ways. I thought relationships existed in a vacuum. I thought I could work hard on one without much regard to the others. But that’s wholly incorrect. Intimate relationships and friendship are really an amalgamation. Neither can truly thrive if you are wholly neglecting the other. I now understand that I need and deserve the strong, unshakable, and incomparable beauty that female friendship brings to my life and to my spirit.

    And so do you, my friend.