categorically kate

Category: live easy

Year 32

Birthdays have always been a big deal to me. Truthfully, I used to celebrate my entire birth month but then #LittleLadyHolland came along on October 14th and I had to reevaluate that a bit. Since her birth, the month of October has understandably been about her and I’m 100% okay with that for super obvious reasons. But the kid inside of me still loves a good birthday celebration even if my birthday is a bit of an afterthought now.This year feels different though. Perhaps it is because my 32nd year on Earth was my hardest yet. I honestly went into my 32nd year feeling more hopeful than ever. In Year 31 I had visited France. I was more plugged into my community. My job and my family seemed better than ever before. I felt like life was more than good; it was amazing. And as I continually saw glimpses of what the future held for me and my family, I became more and more excited to see how the next year would unfold.But I never saw it unfolding like it did. I’m still in the throws of it all. I have good days and bad days. More accurately, I have good hours and bad hours. And while I cannot share too much, I can now say with confidence that on October 18, 2018, I only saw half of the picture. Waking up to the reality of the other half has been hard, but easy things don’t refine you. I’m overdue for some refinement.

As always, let’s revisit my 40 by 40 list of things I hoped to accomplish this decade. Here’s a brief rundown of what I’ve marked off my list in Year 32:

Write a letter to myself that I can read at 50 (Level 1)

I just did this yesterday. I was looking over my list and becoming a little disheartened that I hadn’t truly accomplished as much as I wanted to in the past year and I thought — I should do this one. You see, I had been putting this one off. Even though I initially put it down as a Level 1 accomplishment, and therefore, an easy one, I’d discovered over the past couple of years that it was, in fact, harder than I thought. I’d started it a few times but always gave up on it. I kept thinking that I needed life to be “set” before I could write it. I needed to know where I would land — I needed to be able to point to something concrete so that future Kate use it as a guidepost back to harmony in the event she’d strayed. With that sort of pressure, it was hard to get anything out of my head and onto paper because life, of course, is chaos and we are never truly “set”. But yesterday morning, as I settled down at my desk, ready to embark on a day of work, I suddenly realized that I couldn’t think of a better time in my life to write this letter. Yes, life is full of ups and downs right now. It is far from set. But maybe that’s what I need to remember. I need to remember that somethings never change and thankfully, others are always in flux. So I wrote myself that letter — it’s four pages. When finished, I sat down and read it aloud to myself in front of some photos of me and Holland while sipping hot tea. It was a moment I hope not to forget and one that, in seventeen years, I hope I can vividly recall as I open my letter for the first time.

Go zip lining (Level 2)

In June we went to Colorado for a family reunion of sorts. While I’d flown through and over Colorado many times, I’d never actually visited the state itself. It is such a beautiful state. Don’t get me wrong — I think I’m still likely pick a beach over a mountain a majority of the time, but I gained a new appreciation for the mountains on that trip. Much like the beach, I found that they have a humbling beauty to them that in person, make you feel as if you are both terribly important and supremely insignificant. One day during the trip, we visited the Royal Gorge. The Royal Gorge is a canyon, very fittingly, of the Arkansas River located west of Canon City, Colorado. My generous grandparents-in-law offered to pay for me to zip-line over the gorge so I took them up on the offer. At 1,200 feet above the Arkansas River, the Royal Gorge zip line is the highest zip line in America! It was amazingly fun and the only downside is that the ride itself was fairly short overall. It was fantastic though and I truly hope it isn’t my last zip-lining experience!

Take a girls only vacation (Level 3)

In July, my best friend Alex, accompanied Holland and me on a tip to Santa Barbara, California. Though it was not originally scheduled as a girls only vacation, unforeseen events turned it into one and honestly, it was amazing. I shared details pretty liberally on Instagram at the time including the first time Holland’s tiny toes touched ocean water (a moment this beach-loving mama will never forget). So many moments from that trip have already morphed into fond memories that I often recall when life feels hard. While I sincerely hope it is not the last “girls only” vacation in my 30’s (I already tentatively have a few others in the works) it is one that I am supremely thankful for and already cherish!

________________________

In additional to officially crossing the above items off my list, there are a few “Honorable Mentions” this year. This last year really pushed me out of my comfort zone and while I could technically cross some of the following off my list, I’m not going to quite yet because I think there is more to come in these areas. So let’s quickly visit a few honorable mentions:

Attend service at a house of worship of a religion I am not familiar with

Earlier this year I felt a calling to find a church family. I know how that sounds — especially if you aren’t religious or spiritual but it’s true. Years ago I had given up on ever finding a church that encompassed and lived out the Gospel as I interpreted it. For years I had kept that side of my life private — reading Rachel Held Evans‘ blog and Twitter feed and feeling, mostly content, with the community it offered. But then, as you probably know, RHE tragically passed away. For someone who did not personally know her, I was shocked as just how crushed I was to lose her. But underneath the sorrow, there was a small voice. I heard it every time I checked #BecauseofRHE for new messages of lament. I slowly realized that there was a whole community out there who read the Gospel as I did and I realized that maybe, just maybe, I could find a church community that did too. Each time I pressed this thought down in my mind, it would arise again. Finally, I relented and put a list together of churches that I’d be open to visiting. On my second such visit, I hit the jackpot. I found my way into a local Episcopal church, and while it was supremely different from any “church” experience I’ve ever had in the past, I fell in love with it. With the people, with the traditions and customs, with stained glass and the choir. While parts of it still feel foreign to me, I am really enjoying learning more about it and settling in. I also love that Holland talks about going to church with enthusiasm and that we often find ourselves having somewhat theological chats before bed or at dinner. While I still plan on attending service at a house of worship that is not Christian, I feel like my foray into the Episcopal church this year is noteworthy and is a first step on a much needed path.

Put a wild color streak(s) in my hair (even if temporary)

I’m not sure if it totally counts as “wild” but earlier this year I broke my nearly decade long “no-color” streak and went ombre with my hair. At first, the ends were a bit amber in color but over time, I’ve lightened them even more. In person, the tips of my hair are definitely blonde and that’s a color that, for this brunette, is at least somewhat wild. I do however, still plan on incorporating a truly wild color in my hair, at least temporarily, in the future so I’m not going to cross this one off the list quite yet.

Get a Holland related tattoo

While I do not yet have my Holland related tattoo, I have figured out what that tattoo is going to be and have already set a date (plus paid a deposit) for it. Not spilling the beans yet, but let’s just say, this is one that I’m definitely crossing off the list in Year 33.

Go Scuba Diving

Speaking of things I plan to cross off the list soon, an opportunity has hit my radar where I might, just might, get to go on a week-long scuba diving trip in 2020. A lot of things would have to fall into place for me in order to make it happen, including me being able to find the finances to pull it off (at the moment, that particular piece seems the most challenging). Nonetheless, I’m excited about the prospect so I’m going to put this out into the universe and hope it can all come together! Wish me luck.

________________________

The more I think about it, technically speaking, today is not the end of my 32nd year (that was yesterday). Today, I turn 33 so it’s really the beginning of my 33rd year. I like that framing better. In the midst of so many endings, I like the idea of beginning anew. Sometimes we need to rest and to re-evaluate the lives we lead before we set off on new travels. This post today has helped me do that – I’ve been blessed before, I’m blessed now, and I’ll be blessed again. It’s time to start anew in a new year of a new life. Let’s go 33 — I’ve got big plans for you!

October 18, 2019
I used to be you.

This morning I sat across the table from a stranger and sipped hot tea. The drive to the cafe was eventful. The interstate was bumper to bumper following an early morning wreck so I took back roads — praying silent prayers for those involved in the accident and for the fact that I now know Little Rock well enough to take back roads (something college-Kate, would have marveled at). When I arrived at the cafe, a full 2-minutes ahead of schedule thankyouverymuch, it wasn’t hard to spot my companion. As an eager first year law student, she was, of course, the one wearing a polished dress and blazer at 8 a.m. to meet me. I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t important enough for all that and that I wouldn’t have judged her one bit for showing up in sweatpants. But I bit my tongue.

She introduced herself and patiently waited as I ordered hot tea and a bagel. Then we started the familiar dance of the mentor/mentee relationship: What college did you attend? What did you major in? Why did you go to law school? What’s your favorite class so far? What do you think you want to practice when you graduate?

The questions and answers rolled off my tongue casually. With ease.
I’ve done this before. Several times in fact.
And each time, I sit and I talk. I sip my hot tea. I try to provide what I can, though honestly, I’m never sure that I have much to provide.

She seems nice. Eager. Quick on her feet. I tell her that she’ll survive this. I feel truth in those words as they pour from my lips. But before we can make moves to throw away napkins and push in our chairs, the familiar question bubbles up from her mouth: “How do I get where you are?”

This time though, the question hits me differently than it has before. I want to scream “You don’t want to be where I am friend. My life is a mess. Everything is crazy.” But I of course, stop myself. This 1L did not sign up for my drama.

So instead, I smile and I tell a story.
An honest story.
The true story of me in 2013.

I was graduating soon. I was jobless and scared. I watched classmates accept job offers and I cried into my pillow — half from jealousy and half from despair. I prepped for a bar exam and prayed that something awaited me on the other side of it though I had no clue what that thing was or whether it would be what I wanted. And even though I didn’t know it at the time, I practicing a form of faith. I wouldn’t have called it that – I would have called it preparation. I prepped by studying ten hours a day, six days a week. I prepped by sending out cover letters and resumes and by asking for lunches with attorneys I’d met during my clerkships. I prepped by combing through online job listings and by casually dropping by career services just to say hi.

All of that prep — all of that faith — formed a path to good things. I got a job offer a week after I sat for the bar exam. That job served me well for nearly three years and I learned a lot from it. Met amazing people. When I left it for my current position back in 2016, I was once again unsure of the future but I now love my current job — nearly everything about it. What I do. The people I work with. The flexibility it gives me. Everything.

And as I poured forth this true story, I could see her taking stock of what I said but also what I meant by it all. What I meant was that there isn’t a “color by numbers” that will get her the career I have nine years from now. No — she has to form her own path. And her path won’t all be sunshine and rainbows. She’ll have peaks and valleys along the way. She’ll cry tears of angst and of joy. But that if she keeps laying the bricks, the path will emerge and it will lead her to the professional life that she is supposed to have — not mine; hers.

So we threw away napkins and pushed in chairs. We gave familiar handshakes and parted ways. And as always, I left not knowing if I imparted anything worth imparting on her at all. I’m just not sure. I never am. There is however, certainty in one thing. Because you see, as I recalled my true story aloud, I realized that my life is once again calling me to lay down bricks in faith.

Years later and scary things loom again. There is so much uncertainty on the other side of it all. Once again I see life unfolding for others and I’m left crying in my pillow at night — half from jealousy and half from despair. Once again I’m researching and prepping and desperately throwing down bricks and crossing my fingers that somehow, someway, they will converge into a distinguishable a path on the other side. A path towards good things. But just like before — I can’t possibly orchestrate it all. It has to unfold. In its own time. In its own way. All I can do is what I can do. That’s it. No more. No less. And just like the student I met today, my path won’t look like yours. And that’s okay. It’s mine.

So instead of falling apart in the cafe parking lot, I breathe deep.
I drive back across town in peace.
I arrive at my office. I tackle my inbox.
And I lay another brick.

October 8, 2019
Why My Nose Stud is a Love Letter to My Nose

If I were a betting woman, I would bet that you don’t like your nose.

Funny thing is — I don’t have to see your nose or even know who you are to probably be accurate in that guess. Odds are, you don’t. Our noses are this weird thing in the center of our faces that help us taste our food and amplify the sounds we hear and yet, quite a few people don’t like the version sitting on their face.

I’m one of those people.

Again, if I were a betting woman, I’d say right now you’re thinking, “What? Your nose!? Why? There is nothing wrong with your nose!” But if I were to say the same about your nose, you’d disagree and be able to immediately pinpoint all of its perceived wrongs.

I don’t recall a time in my life, ever, that I was consciously aware of my nose’s existence and didn’t hate it. You see, I share my rather distinct nose with other members in my family and extended family. And in the family, it has always been deemed an “unfortunate” nose. Wistful words about rhinoplasty around the house were not uncommon and it didn’t take long for me to join in the lament.

My negative nose self-talk really didn’t improve based on my school experience either. In addition to my “unfortunate” nose, I had rather prominent dark hair on my arms and legs. And since I was not allowed to shave my legs until 6th grade, school bullies had taken to calling me “Woolly Mammoth”. One particular bully, Bryce, decided to up the torment when I was in 5th grade. He proclaimed that my nose was so pointed, it looked more like a beak than a nose and decided my new nickname should be “Woody Woodpecker.” On days that Bryce and his friends were feeling particularly vindictive, they called me “Wooly Woody.” That still stings a bit if I’m being honest.

With time, I shaved my legs (and arms — yes arms!) and the Woolly torments eventually died down. But the Woody ones never really did. In fact, the day I graduated high school, I recall Bryce slinging his arm around my shoulder and saying something to the effect of, “Well, we made it Woody.”

Needless to say, I became very self-conscious about the point and sharpness of my nose. I’ve never liked it. I’ve always said I would “fix it” as soon as I had the money. I was adamant on this point.

Until… I had my daughter.

After Holland was born, I took a reevaluation of my negative self-talk generally. I started to worry how it might influence her. I of course, want her to be happy and healthy, but I don’t want her growing up with a mother who is constantly trying to lose 10 pounds or thinks that her thighs look terrible in shorts. I made a conscious decision early in her life, that in order to encourage her to love her own body, I must love mine. That took work and yes, some days I eat a whole pizza and start to doubt my own self-love. But for the most part, I’m happy with my body knowing that it has served me well and that I’m mostly, good to it.

But making peace with my nose has proven to be a much harder task. I often wonder how I will feel if my daughter grows up to have my nose. Will I think it is unbecoming on her as well? Surely not. Like everything about her, I’m sure I’ll think that it is beautiful and amazing. So why then do I have a hard time accepting it being in the middle of my own face?

But if my child, in her early years of life, hears my own negative-nose talk, I’m afraid that she too is likely to learn by example that her nose is ugly. It breaks my heart that she might one day be as hard on herself about her nose as I have been, and continue to be about my own, on a daily basis.

That’s why, last Friday afternoon, I got my nose pierced.

When I was a teenager, I got my naval pierced. Afterwards, I started making plans for tattoos and other piercings I would get once I was grown up and could decide for myself. One day, I said aloud to someone that I loved (and who loved me), that I would get my nose pierced. That person, full of doubt and hate for their own nose, wasted no time in telling me that was a bad idea. They said, “Kate, you don’t put fancy treatments on an ugly window. It just draws attention where it shouldn’t be.”

That person loved and continues to love me deeply. But they were blinded by the very nose on their face and likely generations of people telling them that this nose is just not good enough. Regardless, their words have stuck with me. I think about them every time someone catches a photo of me in profile — something I try to always avoid. I think about them when I put my makeup on each morning. I think of them each time I get a zit on or around my nose. “You don’t put fancy treatments on an ugly window.”

Maybe we should though.

Maybe, we can dress that window up enough that we’ll look at it more often. And maybe, instead of avoiding it, all the attention put on it will slowly turn our disdain for that window into acceptance of it. And maybe with time, that acceptance will become admiration. And perhaps, if we are truly lucky, admiration will blossom into adoration. Maybe. Just maybe.

I’ve spent 32 years of my life locked into a pattern of avoidance and disdain towards the very nose on my face.

No more.
I’m done.
For me.
For Holland.
For future kids or grandchildren who might also share this nose one day.
The time has come for me to break the cycle. To break up with the self-hate.

I’m not there yet. Not even close. I still cringe at photos of me in complete profile and I find myself occasionally looking up plastic surgeons in my area.

But each time this tiny jewel catches the light and draws in my eye, I see my nose a little more clearly. And I have high hopes that one day, I’ll be able to admire the window for itself. With or without the fabulous drapes.

April 1, 2019
Ending my Addiction to Fast Fashion

Overall the years, I’ve given up a lot of things in pursuit of a more ethical lifestyle that would also reduce my carbon footprint.

First, I gave up meat. Technically, I first gave up beef and pork. Then, over a year later, I finally gave up poultry as well. I had discovered the true cruelties of the meat industry, the terrible impact of meat on your physical health, and of course, came to terms with what I’d known my entire life as something that felt “wrong” to me. At first, giving these up seemed a little daunting but I soon realized that there were, in fact, pretty easy to do. My fear and comfort zone held me back more than anything. And making the changes made me feel better than ever — physically, mentally, spiritually.

Next, I gave up all of the beauty and household products I had even known. I went from loving Clinique and pretty much everything that P&G sold to understanding the horrors of animal testing and just how dangerous many of the ingredients in those products are thanks to the US’s super lax standards. I of course, replaced these items with brands that were cruelty-free and eco-friendly (including favorites like Dropps and Grove).

Then, I started parting with money by regularly donating to organizations that I believe are pursing worthwhile causes to support ethical endeavors around the word. This too felt good.

After that, the universe started to impress upon me the importance of sustainable and ethical fashion. It began when Adam randomly played “The True Cost” on Netflix one day. That led me to feeling reaaaaal crappy about my fashion choices and out of guilt, following a few key people in the sustainable fashion movement like Livia Firth online. But then — Old Navy, GAP, and Target hit up my e-mail y’all and I bet you can guess what they offered me:

Cute clothes
Real cheap
Decent(ish) quality
Credit card that offers in-store rewards

And I bit. Hook, line, sinker. I continued supporting the fast fashion industry. Of course, I’d still get frustrated when a top fell apart after a first (or fifth) washing but I’d roll my eyes and think, “At least I didn’t spend THAT much on it.”

Then Marie Kondo told me to clean up my act. Not once. But twice. First with her book back in 2017. Then again with her Netflix special in 2019. Both times I threw out copious amounts of cheap clothing that I either never loved, no longer loved, never fit properly, no longer fit properly after washings, or that was worn out completely. Both times I vowed — “Nope. Not again. Not me. I shall break my fast fashion habit.”

Narrator: “She did not break the habit…”

I had good intentions. I did. I always DO. But I’ve been groomed my entire life to not only expect a bargain but to practically crave them. Each time I hit “Buy Now” my brain is flooded with feel good chemicals that softly whisper, “Sssh.. it’s okay if it isn’t exactly what you want or need. It will do for now. And you got such a great deal on it. Don’t worry. You’ll love it!” This is reinforced when tracking information is sent. Oh, I get a high from a watching a tracking number that is somewhat embarrassing to discuss. And don’t get me started on the joy I feel opening the boxes that arrive on my front porch. It is… so freaking satisfying. It’s a treat to myself from myself that, at least temporarily, makes me feel good about myself.

But like any addict – I know that my high is always temporary. And soon, I’ll have to search for another promo code, another deal, another item to ship and track and open. The cycle repeats and as the highs fade I’m left with closet full of things I don’t necessarily love.

Using the skills I’ve recently learned by reading The Power of Habit, I want to CHANGE when those feel good feelings flood my brain and what message they relay. And I’m proud to say, for the first time ever, I think I’m taking some concrete steps to override my addiction to fast fashion.

What’s the plan now?

Well… first I raided my “sales” e-mail account. You know, that e-mail account you keep solely to provide to sales clerks when they ask if you are on e-mail lists or that you type in when you get to a website to get an initial promo code. Yup. That one. I raided it. It received, on average, roughly 60 messages a day from my favorite fast fashion retailers — Old Navy, Gap, Banana Republic, Kohls, J. Crew Factory — and I did the unthinkable to each e-mail: I opened them and I unsubscribed.

Then I went to my Instagram account and did something just as hard: I unfollowed nearly every single blogger in the feed that pushes products from these places (I will admit — I left one or two on the follow list but only because I really like them a lot outside of them peddling cheap, fast fashion).

Next, I went on a mission to replace these things with quality, sustainable brands and ambassadors. If bloggers and promotions e-mails were fueling my fast fashion habit, then perhaps the best way to build a love for sustainable and ethical fashion was to find brands and influencers I loved. As online analytics picked up what I was doing, I was pushed ads for ethical, sustainable brands I’d never heard of before. I started to look forward to logging online and scrolling through Instagram just to see which new brand would advertise to me. By doing this, I also discovered tools like Good on You (supported by Emma Watson) that would further help me explore better options for clothing.

Then, I picked up Overdressed: The Shockingly High Cost of Cheap Fashion from my local library. I’m still reading it, but with each page that I turn I become more and more resolved to finally overcome my fast fashion addiction. I’m making plans… Plans that, in years past, would have raised my blood pressure.

Plans to cut up in-store credit cards altogether (Ek!)
Plans to stop looking at Target’s clothing each visit (Gasp!)
Plans to never step foot into Old Navy again (*RIP Kate*)

Plans to, after YEARS to lip service, finally curate a sustainable, eco-friendly, ethical wardrobe that is versatile, somewhat compact, and that meets all my needs.
Plans to treat each and every piece of my wardrobe as an “investment piece”.

This is hard. And yes, I realize that these choices I’m making are heavily influenced by my economical privilege. People can’t treat every item of clothing they buy as an investment piece if they are worried about putting dinner on the table. But regardless of where you fall on the disposal income scale, you can make choices that will reduce your reliance on fast fashion. The best thing to do is to thrift — give old pieces new life. Another great idea is swapping. Instead of trashing old duds, get together with friends and trade them. And if you have to venture into H&M for a piece of clothing, engage in some basic quality tests to see if it might (at least somewhat) stand the test of time.

Out of all the habits I’ve broken to reduce my carbon footprint on this planet, ending my love affair with fast fashion has to be the hardest yet. But I’m determined this time to see it through and I feel confident that I’ve already made more progress than in any of my prior attempts. I plan to keep updating here including sharing many of the brands, influencers, and resources I’ve discovered.

So tell me.. have you reduced your reliance on fast fashion?
What are your favorite sustainable brands and influencers?

February 20, 2019
A Personal Revolution

Each year, like millions of others, I try to embark upon some new journey. To strive towards some new goal. To improve the life I’m already living in some novel way.

Some people do this by choosing a word to define their year.
Others do it by paying entrance fees to races they are determined to run or by buying new calendars and to-do lists.
I know people who don’t necessarily mark the occasion with anything so concrete, but nonetheless make steady vows to themselves every time the ball drops.

I’ve been all of these people at one point or another.
I will be again. Perhaps I am now.

Like most, I think there is something refreshing about a new year; it’s a new opportunity, a clean slate, and all that jazz. And while in truth there is never a perfect time to start a new journey, there is something whimsical about declaring one in conjunction with another turn around our favorite star.

In years past I’ve proclaimed to the world that I planned to focus on Intention and Effort. And while I indeed did just that, at least for a while, I would be lying if I claimed not to still struggle with both. Daily. Oftentimes by the hour.

Perhaps that’s why this year, I’ve been a little slower to jump on the resolution bandwagon.
I’m not anti-resolution you see, it’s just, well… I’m craving (and have been for some time) something greater than a resolution.

I need a revolution.
A personal revolution.

And truly, I can say that I’m in the midst of one. It began before January 1st though I couldn’t tell you an exact time or place. It may have come from a place of self-love or self-loathing. I’m not entirely sure nor do I feel compelled to be. Either way, it pressed itself upon me before I had time to notice that I was stumbling towards it, not halfheartedly, but in dire need of it altogether.

My revolution is both grand and insignificant.
Some may notice changes while others perceive nothing out of the ordinary.
But me? I’m noticing.

Let’s start with obvious changes: I’ve given up Diet Pepsi, a long-held favorite since the moment my lips took their first sugary, carbonated sip. I’ve also discovered a new, more holistic attitude towards self-care that has resulted in me being more consistent in the gym than I’ve been in my entire adult life. Perhaps most strangely of all, I’ve found this time to be not only rewarding, but wildly liberating in a sense I never expected. I’ve also begun reorganizing our home with a fervor and insistence that I don’t think I have previously been capable of — finding myself easily parting with things that a year ago I would never have parted with without substantial tears.

But those are just the obvious things.

The subtle changes are much less perceptible. They are, so intangible in fact, that I even find myself struggling to find words for them at all. It’s been, if anything, a mindset shift that perhaps only I can truly feel though I still won’t purport to fully understand it myself. It is ongoing. Evolving.

If I’m being honest (and it’s my blog so I will), I’ve found myself taxed in recent years – not by life necessarily, but by myself. By the weight of the things that I’ve taken from others or that I’ve put on myself. These burdens are based on both inner and worldly expectations. I’ve done this willingly. Sometimes even happily. But it always ends in the same place and I’m discovered this simple fact: I don’t want to live in that place any more.

So yes, this revolution of mine is personal. I’m dropping perceived notions of myself that I’ve held for decades and shedding the weight of opinion, judgment and skepticism of others. I’m taking a stand for what works best for me and being unapologetic when that doesn’t align where others think it should. I’m rediscovering my life and how I relate to it in all aspects… emotionally, physically, spirituality, and mentally. It’s like meeting myself for the first time and learning about my actual needs, desires, and interests.

In recent years, it’s become more difficult to ignore the world around me. I embraced this fact and dived in unapologetically and head first. But I’ve discovered that life is both cruel and kind. It is shockingly just and still terrifyingly unfair. The pain and the elation of it all is overwhelming and yet, oddly serene. With these discoveries I’ve found an odd question burning on my lips: What about me?

Each day is unpromised yet it’s impossible to live each as if it is our last.
What if, instead then, we just live each striving towards ourselves.
Not our best-selves. Just ourselves.
Towards inner-peace. Towards self-reflection. Towards those monstrously subtle delights that make this revolution around the sun worth the ride.

Viva la revolución.

January 16, 2019
Year 31

Today, I turn 32.

My 31st year was full of highs and lows. Quite frankly, there were probably a few more lows than I would have liked. As of late though, I feel like the tide is finally turning in my favor.

This past year my marriage has faced challenges but withstood them and is beginning to blossom in such a beautiful, albeit unexpected way. I went through (but overcame) a bit of a depressive slump and have two wholly unplanned but meaningful tattoos as a result. I’ve been increasingly concerned about the state of the world but I’ve stepped up to the plate instead of retreating in fear.

But before I can officially put this year in my rear-view mirror, I must revisit my 40 by 40 list of things I hoped to accomplish this decade. Here’s a brief rundown of what I’ve marked off my list in Year 31:

Wear (and Rock) Red Lipstick (Level 1)

Honestly, I’ve always been more of a Chapstick kind of gal. But when one of my best friends got married in France and I found a striking red dress and fascinator for the rehearsal dinner, I decided that I simply could not avoid my self-assigned red lipstick challenge any longer. I received so many compliments on my dress and fascinator but I was most surprised that people noticed (and loved) the lipstick. It went over so well that afterwords, I branched out and decided to occasionally wear lipstick to work and once, I even sported this bright red shade again just to get drinks with friends at a local wine bar. I mean, I don’t even know who I am anymore! Who am I and what have I done with my Chapstick loving self? Just kidding — there are currently at least three tubes of Chaptstick within my immediate reach so I haven’t strayed too far from my roots. But I can appreciate the art of red lipstick now and even more, I think I may actually like it.

Participate in a Podcast (Level 2)

So I can’t tell you which podcast I participated in nor can I tell you what we discussed, but I swear it happened. This year, I got to be an anonymous guest on a very popular website’s new(ish) podcast. Let’s say that this website is a sort of specialized advice column. I had written in with a question and much to my surprise, the webmaster asked if I would be interested in discussing my letter (and the issues in it) on the website’s podcast. I was a little hesitant (mainly because like a lot of people, I’m not really a fan of my own voice) but Adam was super encouraging. He kept reminding me of this item on my 40 by 40 list and saying that there was no time like the present. Quite frankly, when I wrote this item on my list I was not envisioning participating in a podcast that had such a wide audience but I did it! I ended up really enjoying the experience itself and really enjoying the feedback I received on my question (both on the podcast and in the comments and feedback posted on the website following the release of my episode). All in all, I’m very happy that I listened to Adam’s encouragement and marked this one off my list when I did.

Stay the Night in a Castle…er, Chateau (Level 4)

As I’ve mentioned, one of my dearest friends got married in France in May of this year. The trip was amazing save for the fact that I feel within hours of landing, I fell down a flight of stairs and broke four ribs (ouch!). One of the coolest things about the trip was the venue my friend chose to host the festivities and guests. We got to stay in this amazing Chateau (that’s literally French for “castle” y’all). According to Wikipedia, a “castle” is typically agreed to be a private, fortified residence of a lord or noble. The castle we stayed in was the the Chateau de Jalesnes and it dates back to 1610. The Chateau’s first occupant was the Marquis de Jalesnes — Charles de Jalesnes. A “Marquis” is a nobleman who ranks above a count but below a duke. The Chateau had stately guest rooms, intricate gardens, heavy iron gates, and even an abandoned moat. So as far as I’m concerned, the Chateau de Jalesnes counts as a castle and I’m marking this one off my list.

_________________

And while I can’t mark them off just yet, I’ve made strides towards accomplishing the following this year:

Write/Send letters to 3 mentors who have impacted my life (Level 2)

I wrote a letter this year to a dear mentor at my old law firm who has truly led an inspiring life dedicated to public service and progressive values. He is an older gentleman who has seen some of the worst things humanity has to offer and yet, he always looks for the bright side. In my letter, I recalled once taking Holland with me to the office while I chatted with some old co-workers. This man came came upon us and found Holland scribbling away with pens and highlighters at a friend’s desk. He got on her level and spoke to her gently. When he got ready to depart, Holland gave him the piece of paper she had been coloring. My friend joked, “You may want to hang onto that, it could be worth something one day.” This gentleman, without missing a beat responded sincerely, “It already is.” That simple statement is an embodiment of everything he is and everything I strive to one day be. I am grateful that he has been a part of my life.

Visit three countries in Europe (Level 4)

It is very clear by now that we went to France this year. That’s one European country down — two (and hopefully more) to come!

Read Three Classics I Haven’t Read Before (Level 1)

I had high aspirations of getting through at least three classics this year. I started off strong — finishing (and loving) both Jane Eyre and Catcher in the Rye by the end of April. I took some time off to focus on work and preparing for our France trip. Sometime in July I started For Whom the Bell Tolls and strugggggggleeedddd my way through each page for months. Literally months. Every time I picked the book up I would just have this overwhelming sense of dread. I couldn’t connect to the characters or to the writing. I found myself wanting to skip paragraphs then entire pages. It was, quite frankly, a disaster. A few weeks ago I finally admitted defeat and checked it back into the library half read. Shortly thereafter, I quickly powered my way through Eat, Pray, Love. But I don’t think that Eat, Pray, Love qualifies as a “classic” so my quest for another classic will have to continue into Year 32.

_________________

So that’s been Year 31. Bring on Year 32 baby!

Happy Birthday to me.

October 18, 2018
We Don’t Have a Village

Parenting isn’t for the faint of heart.
It is of course, wildly fulfilling but also terribly consuming. It makes me unbelievably happy and fulfilled and yet, there are days that I want to pull out my hair and run away.

In the busy and delicate balance of juggling work, parenting, and marriage we are told not to forget about ourselves. We are encouraged to find time away from the house with friends. We are told to pursue our individual interests. We are told to find time to indulge. We are told to prioritize our marriage.

What we are not told is that all of those things are harder to do when you don’t have a village.
Villages are supposed to raise children. But our family does not live in a village.
Our family resides on an island. With a single house. And perhaps a partially rusted skiff tied to the dock.

Parenting is harder on an island.

On our island, there are three humans. One of them is fairly small but quite demanding.
We tend to revolve around her.
And the two larger humans are sometimes exhausted and cranky.
Okay, fine.. we are often exhausted and cranky.

Our island occasionally gets visitors. Grandparents drift in with general supplies and offers of childcare services. Their visits are nice and always appreciated. But they don’t live on our island. They don’t live anywhere near it. Sooner or later, they depart our little piece of shoreline and once again, we will find ourselves alone.

In the day to day of life our island is quite lonely. And it can be tough.

It is pretty difficult to escape our island. If we want a date night or any time away together, we have to make arrangements for someone to come to our island. And they don’t make the trip for free. This means that our nights out are usually spent constantly watching the clock so that we can get back to our island before it costs us a small fortune. And of course, picking the most frugal and often-times least fun activities so that we can even pay for the privilege to leave our island.

I must admit I am often jealous of parents with villages.
I’m sure a village has drawbacks, but I long to have a reliable village to raise my daughter in. A village that would support us in our parenting goals and methods. A village that could offer her encouragement and love in our absence. A village that I knew I could count on when life got tough. A village that my daughter could come to rely on.

As I sit on my lonely shoreline, I see other islands. I see other parents in need of companionship and support. I see other islanders desperate for respite. And I start to wonder… maybe we should form an archipelago?

We could connect our islands. We could actively form pathways between them.
I can pledge to be there for another mom and she can pledge to be there for me.
My child becomes hers and hers becomes mine.

What if, instead of dreaming of a village I don’t have, I just make one for myself?
For my family. For my daughter.
For your family. For your children.

Children grow best when they have broad experiences and exposures.
Children grow best when their parents are intentional.
Children grow best when mommy and daddy have a little sanity left over at the end of the day.

So I propose that islanders like myself decide that we longer live on a lonely islands with only our children. Rather, let’s dive in and connect our lives to create a massive chain of islands with lots of children.

Perhaps children do grow best in villages.

But maybe they can grow just as well in an archipelago.

I’m certainly down for trying.

September 11, 2018
My Actual Size

From the point in my life where I truly became “aware” of sizing (more specifically mine), I was a Size 4. Comfortably. Over time, I started to identify with this fact. That sounds weirder than it probably is — all I mean is that I knew easily and without hesitation that I had brown hair, freckles and was a Size 4. I had nothing against other sizes per se. Those other sizes just… weren’t mine. I was a Size 4.

As I transitioned into maternity clothing, I was not the least bit worried about growing out of a Size 4. I assumed it would be a temporary adjustment and that with time, I’d come back to my “normal” size. After my traumatic labor and delivery, I was in no rush to return to a Size 4. Losing weight was the last thing on my mind. I did however, continue to assume that in the future I would eventually be a Size 4 again.

At roughly six month postpartum, I set out to lose the weight. It was relatively easy for me. I started working out a few days a week. I cut down my nightly wine habit. I brought a healthy lunch to work instead of ordering delivery. Before long, I was once again comfortable in a Size 4. That journey, if anything, only cemented in my mind that I was indeed, a Size 4.

But here’s the thing… that’s changed.

It has taken me many, many months to admit that’s changed. Not necessarily because I’m ashamed of no longer being a Size 4 (I’m not) but because being a Size 4 has been such an active part of my identity for nearly my entire adult life. It felt odd to disassociate myself from it.

However, over the past several months my mood instantly soured when I got dressed. It took me awhile to figure out the reason. One day, it hit me: The act of getting dressed made me feel bad about my body.

Each time I’d zip up my Size 4 pants, my self-esteem would plummet. Sure, they zipped. I could even sit in them and somewhat breathe in them. But they were not actually comfortable to me. In fact, I’d find myself unbuttoning them if I sat at my desk for long periods of time. Or immediately rushing to take them off when I got home. Once off, I instantly felt better about myself.

You see, I like my body. I like my lifestyle.
I didn’t like my pants.

I was allowing an arbitrary tag number sewn into a waistline determine how I felt about my body and my lifestyle. I realized that the pants hanging in my closet are 100% within my control. I was literally choosing to feel bad about myself.

Is it silly to identify with being a particular size? Maybe; maybe not.
Is it silly to continue to identity as any particular size when it is making you feel bad about a life and body you are otherwise content with? YES!

“If it costs you your peace, it is too expensive.”
Being a Size 4 is too expensive for me in this stage of life.

In this stage, I’m putting in extra hours at the office.
In this stage, I’m only able to hit the gym on occasion.
In this stage, I use my downtime to play with my toddler and catch up on self-care.
In this stage, I want to occasionally enjoy ice cream or cupcakes with said toddler.
In this stage, I enjoy unwinding with hot baths and cold glasses of Chardonnay.
In this stage, I am a Size 6.

In the next stage, I may be a Size 4 again. Or not. I could be a Size 8 or a Size 10.
Hell, in the next stage I may no longer be a brunette (hello age!).
That’s going to be okay with me too because being healthy and content does not come only in particular sizes or colors.

I’ll be 32 in a few months. I’m ashamed that it has taken me that long to learn that cornerstones of my identity may need to fluctuate. For me, that was the size of my pants. For you, it may be something else entirely. Either way, it is okay to be happy being something other than what you’ve always identified yourself with — time and circumstance molds us all.

Today, I’m happy being a Size 6. And being nearly 32. And being a brunette — but I now truly understand that all of the above are subject to change.

July 27, 2018
2018: A Year of Intention

If I am being honest, last year was less than stellar.

Don’t get me wrong, it was not necessarily a bad year. I mean, politically it was a shit show. A complete dumpster fire shit show. But personally, it was a not terrible year. At the beginning of the year, I decided that 2017 was going to be my year of “effort”. I was determined to put forth more effort in a lot of areas: my marriage, my child, my job, my health. And I started things off on the right foot. I signed up for a running class and even a 5K. I took it seriously. I took on big projects at the office and worked very hard on them. I sought out a therapist to talk through lingering issues and made a lot of progress sorting through them. I really put in some effort damnit.

And then in early May, I was in a car wreck. It totaled my car. It hurt my lower back. And to be honest, I was very mopey about it all for months. The back injury totally derailed all the effort I had put forward on my health. I found myself spending hours every week arguing with the at-fault insurance company and trying to justify my trips to PT. Discouraged by all the hassle and pain, I decided that my effort in that arena no longer matter. I started eating whatever I wanted without any regard for the consequences. The results were some rather tight Sloans and even worse self-esteem. But my slump exceeded far beyond just health and fitness.

I went months without seeing my therapist. I stopped checking out books from the library. I stopped making any effort to really see and keep up with a lot of my friends. I became easily frustrated when work projects fell behind schedule. I found myself falling into routines that I did not necessarily love. I will (reluctantly) admit that some of these included getting the kiddo to bed and then basically ignoring everything (sadly, including my husband) until bedtime while I scrolled through social media on my phone. I still of course, had this vision of how life could be if I put forth all the effort in the world… but I did not use my time intentionally. Even once my back (mostly) healed and I settled my case with the insurance company, I found these newfound habits very hard to break. In fact, I’m still struggling with them.

That’s why, I’d like 2018 to be a year of intentional acts.

Being intentional means that you perform with awareness or that something is done deliberately, consciously, or on purpose.

I am guilty of not thinking things through. I am definitely guilty of mindless action (or inaction). I am super guilty of having a lofty goal (like writing a novel, remodeling the house, or getting in better shape) but then never breaking those things down into their smallest parts and being intentional about obtaining them. Instead, I lament that I don’t “have time” to write a novel despite the fact I usually spend my lunch break scrolling through social media. And I insist there is simply no money for the remodel projects I want to do yet I wastefully spend untold sums in Target’s Dollar Spot or I buy Holland yet another cute outfit for her already crowded closet. And I complain about my tight pants or my energy level while also raiding the snack cabinet at work for dark chocolate or skipping the gym because it is rainy or too cold. None of these self-sabotaging acts are done on purpose or with deliberation. And really, that’s the entire problem. If I had a bit more awareness (and self-control), I simply would not do them.

There is a reoccurring quote online about how we all have the same amount of hours in our days as [insert person you admire here]. And as cliche as it sounds, that quote is absolutely right. Now, that does not mean that it isn’t okay to veg out or to relax or to even indulge in mindless activities. I think it is. But for a little too long now, I’ve lived more out of habit than out of intent. I want desperately to change that about myself.

So in 2018, I vow to be intentional in how I invest my time, my money, and my energy. I do not want to wake up and prioritize my schedule every day — filling the empty bits with mindless habits that get me no closer to the life I intend on living. Rather, I want to lead a life in which I schedule my priorities and on occasion, intentionally decide that my top priority is a glass of wine and an early bedtime.

January 18, 2018
Year 30

Today, I turn 31. I’m pretty excited about it. Year 30 has been (mostly) good to me. I did get in that car wreck in May which totaled my car and seriously put a cramp in the running I was doing (and enjoying) thanks to a back injury. That wasn’t so great. But I also fell more in love with my job, watched the most amazing toddler in the world grow up some more, learned the joy of having a therapist (a future post topic I am sure), remodeled our master bathroom, and grew stronger in my relationship with my amazing husband.

In short, Year 30 provided me with opportunities to learn more about myself, my marriage, and my child.

Last October, I shared a 40 by 40 list of things I hoped to accomplish over the next decade. I think I’m off to a pretty decent start. For a reminder of the level breakdown of my list, click here. True to my word — I’ve knocked several things off my list. I thought I’d give an update, in part, to keep myself accountable. Here’s a brief rundown of what I’ve marked off my list this year:

Find and regularly participate in a local nonprofit cause/organization (Level 1)

This year I found and became involved with an organization called Moms Demand Action. I’ve shared their mission before on the blog and discussed why they are so important to me. In light of the gun violence that occurred in Las Vegas a few weeks ago, I believe their mission is even more critical. They are not looking to take guns away from responsible gun owners. Hell, I am a responsible gun owner. They are however, looking for ways to make gun ownership more responsible, ways to keep guns out of the hands of dangerous criminals, AND ways to ensure that guns do not fall into the hands of children. Did you know that gun accidents kill at least one child every other day in our country? My newsfeed this year has been flooded, absolutely flooded, with stories about children shooting and sometimes killing, themselves or others after getting their hands on an unsecured weapon. And yet, I still constantly see pictures of unsecured gun posted online as well — even from people who have young children in the house. Moms Demand Action have created the BeSmart initiative (you can find out more about it here) which aims to promote responsible gun storage. Moms Demand Action chapters, like the one here in Arkansas, hand out FREE gun locks in hopes of lowering the number of senseless gun deaths. Free.

I am so happy that I have worked with this amazing group of women this year. I will admit that work and life have been crazy recently and I have not participated as regularly as I would like. However, I am proud to be associated with Moms Demand Action and I am looking forward to continuing my work with them in the coming weeks, months, and years. Moms Demand Action will not stop until sanity surrounding guns and gun violence has been restored in our country.

Have a romantic in-state weekend getaway with just Adam (Level III)

Back on September 7th, Adam and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. We decided it was finally time to take our first vacation since our honeymoon. We dropped the kiddo off with Grandma and Grandpa (for the first time ever) and drove about an hour up the road to Eureka Springs, Arkansas. It was an amazing getaway — especially considering it was our first getaway post-Holland. We were far enough way that I felt I could let loose and have some fun. But, we were close enough that I felt relaxed knowing that I could get back to Holland super fast if need be. Turns out, I didn’t need to — she was in GREAT hands with her grandparents and had a splendid time without us. And we had a great time too. We ate amazing vegetarian food, we indulged in late nights and lots of wine, which in turn, led to sleeping in and taking our mornings slow and easy. We saw some sights and visited way too many quaint shops. All in all, it was a wonderful and romantic in-state getaway for us both.

Visit a fortune teller or psychic (Level II)

Speaking of that Eureka Springs trip, I saw a psychic there! I went to a place called Mystic Moon and had a Shustah Card reading. I had never heard of Shustah Cards before but apparently they are divination and mediation cards and are used to obtain wisdom and guidance from one’s spirit guides. Now, I’m not saying that I don’t believe in psychics at all, but this lady probably was not the real deal. Don’t get me wrong, she was extremely nice but I definitely got a sense that she was relying heavily on the Barnum effect. She kept mentioning how I juggle a lot of things and do not take time for myself. But honestly, I think those things apply to nearly 90% of moms. Hell, that probably just applies to 90% of people. Anyways, I tried to get somewhat more specific with her as a test. I told her that there was a big decision in my near-ish future and that it could go one of two ways. I asked her to tell me the pros and cons of each way. I was thinking of something specific. In short, she kind of failed the test. She basically told me that both ways were okay but one would involve more short term stress and one would involve more long term stress — so yeah, super general. But she kept switching up the two ways and then again, continued to rely on very vague and general statements instead of addressing anything I was specifically thinking about in that moment. If she was indeed talking to my spirit guides through the cards, then my spirit guides aren’t paying close attention to my life. Still, it was all in good fun and I was able to mark an item off my list so for me, it was $40 well spent.

Become a regular financial contributor to a worthy cause (Level III)

Shortly after the election last November, Adam and I decided it was time that we start putting our money where our mouths were. Of course, we had always made occasionally donations but we had never really become regular contributors anywhere particular. We took a chunk of our budget each month and divided it up between some organizations that we felt particularly drawn to following the election results. For us, those were: 1) the American Civil Liberties Union; 2) Planned Parenthood; 3) National Public Radio; 4) Public Broadcasting Service; 5) Earth Justice; 6) the International Rescue Committee; 7) Save the Children; and 8) Moms Demand Action. To be honest, it still isn’t as much as I’d like to do. A couple of these organizations receive as little as $15 a month from our family. But it is regular and it is a good start. Through this process, I’ve learned that you do not have to have a ton of extra cash to make a difference financially to worthy organizations. You merely need to set aside what you can and take the step of making it official by visiting the website and setting up the draft. It’s definitely worth it!

So there it is — some highlights of Year 30 in a nutshell. It’s been a good year. It’s been a fun year. And I am incredibly excited about what Year 31 holds for me and for my little family.

Happy Birthday to me.

October 18, 2017