During one of my frequent long walks around the Silverlake Reservoir (long because of swollen feet and huge belly) I saw a mother, perfectly put together with black sunglasses, straightened hair, super cute yoga gear, pushing a stroller with one hand and walking her dog with the other. She bumped into some friends. They laughed. They oogled at baby. They made small talk. I imagined it was about play dates and school picnics. The whole scene seemed so effortless. I was a few yards behind, and thank god I was wearing sunglasses too, because I started to cry. Fuck pregnancy hormones, I thought. How embarrassing. But my tears didn't stem from all that progesterone or estrogen. I realized that this right here had always been my dream and it was about to come true.
Read moreProcessing, Part I
I'm officially past my due date and very, very pregnant. Though it's been a long journey with many changes, I am realizing I haven't done much processing throughout these last 9 months, if at all. For most of 2018 I heard a lot of the same narratives from women (and from some men expressing their perspective on their wives' experiences): on bodily changes, on delivery, on "4th trimester." Looking back on the last 40 weeks, it's fascinating what people will share with you, what they feel oaky asking you and telling you. In the moment I didn't find it fascinating at all.
Read moreStarting
Starting
I've been ruminating on starting another blog for the past, well, couple of years. I love to write. I love reading other's self-expression as it often makes me feel less alone, more human, more sane and I often think about how I'd love to contribute my narrative. I truly believe we all have stories to tell, no matter how epic or mundane, that are worth releasing out into the universe. Art, whether it be writing or painting or collage or music or film or all the other forms, is what connects us, reminds us to connect.
But nothing was coming to me, nothing specific. I was putting all this pressure on myself to come up with the perfect idea, the perfect name, the perfect niche and none of it seemed worthy of a blog. Perhaps it's all this carefully-curated content we now see on Instagram, YouTube, etc. that add to this pressure. Everyone seems like an expert or a professional with thousands of followers, so who cares what I have to say? Meanwhile, with all this time spent on thinking about writing I wasn't actually writing. And if I were talking to a friend with this dilemma, I'd tell them, "Your words are worthy. You are worthy of being seen and heard. If writing is what you love, then write!"
It's a tired story: we want to do something that brings us joy, we let fear get in the way, and then we don't do the thing. We stop ideas, opportunities, new experiences in their tracks and this way we can stay in our safe little corner of the world. Or am I just speaking for myself?
I'm in my 30s and when I think about how I am still holding myself back in the same ways I did in my teens and 20s I get a little freaked out. It's a new year, which always sparks reflection. Typically, I like to steer towards the positive side-especially in my outward expressions (whether that's social media or face to face). But today, as we close out 2018, I feel a little disappointed looking back. Did I work towards my goals? Did I even make goals? Did I do the things that give me life? Did I seek inspiration? Did I speak my truth? Well, this blog is an attempt to respond to these questions. Who gives a shit if I it can't be neatly categorized or if it's not covered in beautifully filtered photos. I just have to start. This is me starting.