20 minutes.

do you know that feeling when you're out at a party or out on the town and you have the thought, it's time to go home. i have to go home now. 

which really means: GET ME INTO BED! IMMEDIATELY!!!

i find that the thought always comes (for the first time) about twenty minutes after i should have already been in bed. which means by the time i actually get there it's like an hour and a half after i should fallen asleep. and for that hour and a half my mood, my actions, my very existence is a tenuous thing. 

that's kind of how i feel about my life right now. i'm finally moving in a direction. i've finally made choices. and now that i've made them i'm all: GET ME OUT OF HERE!! Get me into that new apartment! Get me off of this A train! Get me a job that has really meaning! Get me a life that is together and meaningful! Enough, ENOUGH of this waiting and trudging and rolling about in the muck. 

remember the other day how i wrote about the need for patience?

yeah.

{thank goodness for good and kind friends and unplanned midweek brunches that settle me, if only for a moment}. 

just a thought.

on the virtue of patience. and talking to myself.

I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, which is how I knew I had to.

Put on your new spring shoes, I commanded. Grab that new mug off the shelf.

Let’s get out of the apartment. Change of scene. Change of pace.

So I put on my go-to blouse (the one that I now where a good four days out of seven), used just enough concealer to make those under-eye circles less alarming (not by much), and grabbed my glasses (yup, I need those now), the new mug, and the computer.

Off. Go. Down the stairs. And to the coffee shop.

And just sit. If nothing else sit with the coffee and listen. And be okay with that.   

Life has been… funky lately.

So much waiting.

Right now as I sit inside the café, I can sense that I’m waiting for rain. How quickly the waiting becomes longing becomes needing and I need—need—the rain.

Change of pace. Change of page.

I wandered into the kitchen last night (there’s been quite a bit of wandering lately) and this lovely boy who’s just recently move in said, oh man you’re going through it, aren’t you?

I am? I am. How do you know I am?

I can just sense that big life changes are happening right now.

They are? They are. Yes, they are!

 But between the big life changes is a lot of wandering. And waiting.

I am in a debt of gratitude to that lovely boy. It’s nice to be seen—to feel like you’ve really been seen, without saying too much or revealing too much, just by existing in space, to have someone sense the shifting of your makeup…I owe him much for that. 

There’s this move—I’m waiting on that. For that. The living by one’s self. The open arms to a part of New York that is totally new and totally unknown. A new train. A new coffee shop. New neighbors.

There is the attempt to answer some of those big life questions—the grabbing life by its wiggly, wily little tail, and the exclamation: Fine! You will not reveal the answer to my questions? Fine, I will answer them myself.

Or, better yet, I will move forward as though the answer to everything is yes!

Yes, yes, yes, I say—I exclaim.

Though, I then must remind myself: Be patient Meg (yup, I’ve even begun using my own name when talking to myself—this is a first). Things do not always change immediately. Overnight is not a promise. Be patient and be kind and work hard and take some time, if you must. And wander, if you must. But say yes. 

Be patient with knowing that much as you try to answer, most things are still unknown.

You see, I know patience is a virtue, it is just not my virtue.

I had my tarot cards read recently. Halfway through, the reader peered up at me from under her dark, taut curls: You’re giving up on love, aren’t you?

I am not! I balked. If anyone believes in love, it is me. If anyone is a hopeless romantic or a hopeless optimist in matters of the heart, it is me. But now these many weeks later, I cringe to admit that she is right. Though I don’t know that I’m giving up on love so much as giving up on the person who for so long defined love for me.

Or maybe it’s that I’m giving up on the timing of love. And giving up on the timing of it might be just as bad. Worse, even?

Be patient with yourself. Be patient with love. Be patient with a timeline that is not yours to define or to know or to wrangle into place. Let go. Loosen your grip.

I have a girlfriend who is unreasonably beautiful—Charlize Theron beautiful. With a body to prove it. A woman’s body—this perfect shape with the legs of a dancer and the gentle, supple curve of hips. I can’t wear white jeans she says. I’ll never be able to wear white jeans. I understand this statement but adamantly disagree with it. If anyone can or could or would or should wear white jeans it is her. But I understand the feeling of that--the I-don’t-feel-confident-enough-to wear-them. Me either. But I want to. Be patient in your quest for white jeans, I tell myself, which really means:  Be patient in your quest for health. Be patient in the discovery--what works and what does not. Be patient.  

It's still not raining. But I can sense it is near and I best run home before it begins--I have a feeling that the sky will not open slowly, but in one startling release. And my latte's nearly done.

Hey Meg? The story doesn't have to come all at once. And sometimes you'll write something entirely different than what you planned. Circuitous doesn't mean flawed. Be patient. Say yes. And don't give up. 

"Now and then it's good to 
pause in our pursuit of happiness
and just be happy."

Guillaume Apollinaire

in search of a new home. south (way south) of 181st (and preferably no where near the A train).

i was meant to move april 15. the lease was up. the impetus was strong. and i was ready.

i'd been counting down for months. time to go.

and then came the elevator repair. the elevator repair that begins tomorrow, march 26, just weeks before my move-out date. and with the repair, the news that i'd not be allowed to leave until it was finished.

wrench.

when i went to visit my brother last year there was a moment while waiting for the train that i watched as a little boy tugged on his mother's arm, it's coming, the train is coming. 


he had heard it--i knew he had heard it, but try as i might, head-cocked, much as i could, i could not. i could not hear what that little boy had heard.

i always hear the train where i live now. it's that phenomenon where you're so attuned to a place--so familiar with your neighborhood that you know the subtle shifts in sound and pressure.

it's time. to move. to live somewhere new. to learn to listen differently.

i got one more month than expected until that happens, but that means an extra month to explore new neighborhoods in hopes of finding one that feels both totally different and totally safe.

this weekend my dear friend kim took a trip with me on the F train to brooklyn, and i'm gonna level with you: i quite might like living in a borough.

a new season.

i didn't think spring would have a big effect on me this year. i wasn't longing for it, needing it--i mean, let's be honest, when a person pulls out her winter coat all of four times during the season i don't think we can in good conscience call it a winter. can we?

and yet. 

spring has arrived. and the windows are thrown open. and sunglasses are in demand. and the mornings--the sounds, the smell of it, the way the light plays on the hudson, it undoes me. truly. makes getting out of bed a bit easier. 

i'm not sure i'm so in love with spring as the transition into it. but then i wonder if the whole of the season isn't a transition--maybe that's what it is by definition. 

i'm only just now coming to understand that it is movement--those periods and seasons of great change and transition--that while terrifying, actually awaken. 

i often struggle when asked to write a piece for someone or something else. whether it is an online magazine, another blog, or an essay for an application, i flounder. i don't know if there is more ease writing here, in my own space, because i know that no matter what there will always be another blog post, should i choose.

well, when katie asked me to contribute to volume two of the off switch i was nervous. her publication, which she produces almost entirely by herself (from what i can tell) is stunning. i mean, the first one was absolutely stunning. and i wanted to live up to that.

she asked me to expand on an idea that i've often touched on here: this last year and the profound effect that music had on me.

now i must tell you, i actually quite like the article i wrote. and so i would be deeply honored if you all would hop over and check out the publication.

my article is right near the front.



i can't wait to really dive into the publication--the photography, the ideas and the words--all stunning. refreshing, really.

so without further ado: off switch

and please do let me know what you think!

xo
meg

tuesday tune.

about those love letters...

i've been thinking a lot about love of late--of what a love story is,  what it means to love, to be loved, to love one's self.  and then this arrived in my email (from a lovely reader named meg) and i sent an email back immediately asking if i might share. so a huge thank you to meg for her lovely words and gift it was just to send them to me. 


Meg,


The love letters to your future husband are going to be helpful, later in your life when you might forget these times, or when everything is so long past it becomes a memory of a person you used to be and a place you used to live.
 
For many years I pined and longed for my one-true-love and I looked for him everywhere.  Every city, every coffee shop, every low-lit bar.  Looking back, I kept looking even when I was with a boy I thought was the one-true-love.  This should have been a red flag, but I ignored it, despite it's bright color.
 
One day, I stopped looking.  I forgot about it and thought of other things.  I planned to leave, move to New York and live an exciting life with the friends who were waiting in Manhattan and Brooklyn for me to finally leave the Midwest behind.
 
I found him:  I found my one-true-love.  I didn't quite know it on the first or even second introduction because we were surrounded with people, friends, and acquaintances in loud places.  Finally, we went out together, alone.  Our big, loud, funny personalities were quiet and careful with one another.  
 
We tried a few places for dinner and drinks, but they were loud and obnoxious and we were too delicate.  We found a dive bar, we ordered gin and tonics, we talked and laughed.  We walked back to his Jeep and he suddenly pulled me into a doorway where we kissed in the twilight on a May evening, almost five years ago.  We both just KNEW we had found each other, finally.  Finally.  Finally!
 
I will tell you that you cannot quite imagine how or when or who it will be.  Remember, you may not know immediately, but when you know, you know.  It will alter the course of your life forever and you will never look back, or, if you do, you will be grateful for the letters you wrote now.  
 
And yes, you will talk to him about the jeans, or lack thereof.  If you don't mention it, he might just guess because he will truly know you in a way you were never known or loved before.  And he will help you, even if you cannot help yourself.  he will try to understand, he will be there, he will love you unconditionally.  
 
I just wanted to let you know that it is possible to find him.  And even after becoming a wife and a mother, owning a home and a minivan and a swingset, I look across the room at him and I think:  Finally!  
 
Best wishes,
(Meg)

life slice #6.

i have to tell you,
there are days i feel so deeply flawed and imperfect,
the most so, really. and i wonder if
everyone can see that. just by
looking.

but then i hear myself laugh
in spite of it,
or because of it and i remember that
i'm quite happy. and it's been nearly a week
since i've felt loneliness. and that's not so bad.


i'm not so bad, you know.

inspiration.

i'm back in new york this morning, about to head out to my favorite corner coffee shop for a latte and some eggs (a late start today). one of my oldest friends is visiting new york this week and i plan on showing him the town. he was on his own the last day-and-a-half and when he told me that he had lunch in the basement of macy's yesterday, i told him: thank God, i'm here. 

greg is a really good photographer so he'll be photographing new york and i'll be cajoling him into letting me post the photos on the blog. 

but for today i thought i'd share some words and images that have been fueling me of late: 

"Be a child again. Flirt. Giggle. Dip your cookies in your milk. Take a nap. Say you're sorry if you hurt someone. Chase a butterfly. Be a child again."

Max Lucado

"The minute you start enjoying yourself and the person you've become, when you walk into a room with your head held high, the minute you wake up and are glad to be you, the possibilities and opportunities will come knocking at your door."

Author unknown (to me--if you know please tell)

"I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time--waking and sleeping. It doesn't change God--it changes me."

C.S. Lewis

"You're confusing product with process. Most people, when they criticize, whether they like it or hate it, they're talking about product. That's not art, that's the result of art. Art, to whatever degree we can get a handle on (I'm not sure that we really can) is a process. It begins in the heart and mind with the eyes and hands."

Jeff Melvoin

"We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing--an actor, a writer--I am a person who does things--I write, I act--and I never know what I am going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun."

Stephen Fry

"To say 'I love you' one must know first how to say the 'I'." 

Ayn Rand




(my pinterest page).


image 1 via.
image 2 via.
image 3 via.
image 4 via. 
image 5 via.
image 5 via.

showing my heart

a few weeks ago, the lovely blogger micaela of dolce vita, wrote to ask me if i might consider participating in a series in which ladies show their heart through a picture, a poem, a song, a quote, a piece of clothing, and a place. i'm often not a fan of the typical "blog series"--i find them to be tedious and a little boring. but not this one. i so loved looking at what the others before me had done. so little said and so much revealed.

in fact, i liked it so much that i thought i'd share it here.

the other heart posts are so wonderful i must suggest you hop over to micaela's blog and scroll down--you'll be introduced to a whole new group of wonderful bloggers.




a picture: 





this picture was taken this last summer by one of my oldest friends and good lord was he making me laugh!
i've struggled a lot over the years with having my photo taken, but this has to be one of my favorites. because it's so not about vanity. i look at that photo and think, yeah, i'm happy there. and because i look at it and see that i'm happy, i then look and fall in love with my veiny forehead, my mole-peppered arms, and the way my nose crinkles when i snort.


a poem:

a song:

(so hard to choose, but this go round, let's go with this one)

a quote:

I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once. 

John Green

an item of clothing:

i got this rain coat when i was fifteen and about to head out on a two week tour of munich, salzburg, and then lucerne. over the years it has weathered quite a bit with me. i almost threw it out just a few years ago-- it was looking a little worn, but i couldn't bring myself to do it. there's too much history there. and thing is, end of the day, when it's raining, it still does the job.

a place: 

i don't have a picture for this one, so bear with me. a place? well, i'm in park city, utah right now. slowly, over time this place has begun to feel like home. it is a respite. a haven. the place i came as a child with my family and fell in love with the mountains. where i learned to ski and learned the power of the sport. now as my parents toy with idea of one day settling here, i find myself rooting for this, because it already feels like home. there are roots to this place. but really, the end of the day, home--a place--is with people. and family, well, that's all there is.

but when all else fails and i'm feeling a little blue...i'll take a bathtub any day of the week!

tub image

a different kind of link list (food and health)

it's been a while since i've written about food and my relationship to it. for any long-time readers of this blog you know i struggled with a severe eating disorder for years (about six to be exact). while i consider myself almost completely healed, i would be remiss if i didn't say there are days in which i struggle greatly and moments in which the disease reenters my life in a startling fashion. though, i now wonder if this isn't so much a product of my history as the culture in which we live.


i was having a very difficult time this past fall. i went home to texas for few days and i remember my mother asking me why i had taken down the side-link on the blog that detailed my history with the eating disorder.

i don't want it to define me, i said. i'm just not sure i want or need everyone to know now. 


but for better or worse it is a part of your story, she replied.

(boy how things have changed since i was just out of college and my parents were so opposed to the whole blog thing).


i've begun no less than seven or eight posts about my relationship with food now, because my mother's right. for better or worse it is a part of my story, and believe it or not it is something i am deeply grateful for. but in trying to write about it, there just seems to be so much to say, and i get overwhelmed and those posts fall to the graveyard of half-written pieces that litter my blogger dashboard.


so i'm working on it. on writing about where i am with food now. and i can see where others will look at this and think, what does an eating disorder have to do with me?

well, God willing, not much.


but food is an issue in this country. health is an issue. and it is not the purview of the wealthy and elite to worry about it. the way in which eat has changed drastically over the last fifty, sixty years. and our poor bodies just can't keep up, nor can they made heads or tales of it--we have gotten so far away from natural, biological inclinations.

so i'm gonna keep talking about it. because it is vital and nothing is more of the moment.

but until i get my act together, i implore you to take a look at these.

you see, we need to take what we think we know about food and health and turn it on its head:



the real cause of heart disease, according to a heart surgeon.

exercise changes DNA.

hello giggles does it again: a brilliant article, by a brilliant woman. this one about body image.

the reasons for obesity in this country are many, but this audio article is worth a listen. (i mean, seriously, please give it a listen).

occupying or rather, de-occupying big foods. now this is a movement that i could get behind.


and should you want to know more about my story... (it goes backwards, so the most recent posts are the ones that will come up first).

skiing.

it was spring break during my second year of college that i went and saw a life coach. depression had just hit and it was so dark and murky that i was grasping at anything that might help. i remember quite liking the women. her no-nonsense approach to certain things, her look-to-the-future attitude. one of the things i remember with startling clarity is that she had me list out the things i wanted in a life-partner. the idea was that if you were able to name the things you wanted than you were more likely to attract those things to you (energy and whatnot). there were three categories: deal-breakers, basics, and icing-on-the-cake.

i want a man who can ski well. that was my icing-on-the-cake, at least the one i remember.

here's what i have to say all these years later: i still want it. and it may not be such an icing-on-the-cake thing as a basic desire. and the good news (for me) is (1) that the majority of men who ski are extremely attractive and (2) the ratio of men to women on the mountain has to be something like 6:1.

all the men-gazing aside, there is just something about the mountains that centers me--reminds me of my size and place in this world, my own fragility, but mostly of that little seed of fearlessness i so seldom let out.

really must expose that to the sun more often.

You, Me & Charlie

remember when i wrote this? 

well today it was featured on dianna agron's lovely and brilliant site, You, Me & Charlie. 

needless to say, i'm deeply honored. it's always interesting to see your words somewhere else and know they no longer belong to you--you start to see them through different eyes (usually kinder) and that in itself is an experience worth chasing. 

one day...

"This morning, with her, having coffee."

Johnny Cash, when asked for his definition of paradise


image: brian w. ferry 

gone skiing.

i'm gonna level with you all right now:

you should see the bags under my eyes right now. dark, heavy things. a force to be reckoned with.

when the play i was doing finally came to a close and i finished that next week of my-job-that-pays-the-bills, i had worked it out that it was something like seven and a half weeks without one day off. seven and half weeks of working, performing, rehearsing, riding the gosh-darn subway to back and forth and back and forth and on and on.

and the thing is, well...

i loved it. i loved being so darn busy. and because some of that busy was made up of stuff that i actually found fulfilling and meaningful i was able to continue on day after day. but when the ball stopped rolling and suddenly there was a bit more time.

i lost my balance. couldn't find my footing. i couldn't get enough sleep to satiate me. couldn't eat enough food to placate the stomach. and those darn bags under my eyes. not a thing to be done.

and don't even get me started on the blog. so much to say and absolutely no time or energy or will to do so.

and in the wake of the tumult i tend to be not tremendously kind with myself. there's this thing i have to do next week and i want to feel beautiful and i've not been feeling beautiful (and can we talk about how all the sudden i'm aging? hello acid reflux and the need for prescription glasses) and on and on and blah and blah.

how tedious. how boring.

meghan, i said, because sometimes when i need to be serious i talk to myself and use my full given name. meghan, you're about to go skiing for a week. and you're gonna breath in that cool mountain air and your gonna awaken muscles in your body that you haven't felt in far too long and it's gonna empower you. because you love it. you love to ski. and nothing makes you feel quite so beautiful as doing that which you most love. 


so here i am. in utah. still with the dark bags. the eve before the first day on the mountain in years (with the exception of one very scary afternoon in vermont last year). i'll let you know if it's true, that if at the end of five days of the sun and the snow and challenge to the body and the pure love of coming so close to flying...if that's the true serum to that long-sought-after glow.

gaslighting.

back this fall i was feeling a bit undone. you see, there was a boy and he made me feel beautiful, or rather it was that around him i didn't feel beautiful or not beautiful. beauty was a non-issue. beauty didn't exist where he was concerned, it wasn't important.

does this make sense? i'm not making sense.

my affection for him stretched far past caring what he thought i looked like. but i didn't want to admit this.

and so i looked to others to give me the standard social cues. suddenly, for the first time in my life, i craved long glances from men. wanted to know that men found me attractive on the physical level. wanted to gather as much evidence into my basket so that when the one egg rolled out, as i knew it would, i'd survive with the rest, not happily no, but i'd survive.

i was at work late one night, standing at the front in my black cocktail dress (and a pretty modest cocktail dress as that). the evening was winding down and a young gentleman cut away from his group and headed up the long, spiral-staircase to use the bathroom. on the way up, he stopped, mid-step, turned around and looked at me. really looked. for a moment we both froze. and then he turned back-round and headed up the stairs.

did you see that? tell me you saw that? i said to the other girls, turning round behind me to make sure it wasn't something else that had caught his eye.

i'd never been looked at like that. so openly.

flagrant.

and then he came down the stairs, and curved towards where us girls were standing.

and he looked right at me.

i'm still shocked sometimes that a man might ever wish to look at me--and when i'm next to two exceptionally beautiful women and the guy still looks at me?

what time do you finish work tonight? the audacity. it was strangely appealing.

men can be such fearful creatures that the boldness of his swagger made me weak in the knees. it didn't hurt that he looked like a younger, taller, better looking version of ed norton.

around midnight. and without giving it too much thought, here's my number. 


he took the slip of paper, promised to call, and went to collect his friends.

my friend whitney who had witnessed this turned to me and said, i've never been flirted with like that.  she then proceeded to drive her point home by saying something very crude and actually quite funny, but not appropriate for the likes of this forum.

ten minutes later ed (let's call him ed, shall we?) returned. i'm not sure where we're gonna end up tonight, so let me give you my number as well, and that way we'll be sure we won't miss each other. i handed him a pen and paper and he began writing when something caught my eye, and started me round the edge of the desk.

what, um. oh, huh, what's that there? 


oh, this? he said, drawing up his left-hand, gold-wedding band and all. oh, that's not a problem for you, is it? 


deep intake of breath on my part. small nervous laugh.

yeah, yes. it is. deal-breaker actually. 


oh, umm, rapid backtracking on his part, oh, yeah for me too. it's a problem for me too. no, come one, no. it's not like that. my friend thought you were cute, i'm doing this for a friend. 


well, that's nice, but no thanks, and from there i turned away to carefully collect my bottom-jaw from off the floor.

around midnight i tucked myself into a cab. homeward bound. and my phone rang (you do remember i gave him my number?).

meg, come on, just come out with us. 


no, thank you.

do you know who this is?

yes, it's a number i don't know and you know my name, so yes, i've figured it out, i know who this.


i knew you were a smart gal, that's why i liked you. 


i am a smart gal, ed. among the smartest you'll ever meet. that's why i'm in a cab, going home. 


no, just come out. 


listen, i am so flattered (i was really trying to be nice to this truly undeserving man {and keep in mind he was all of 29, maybe, a young guy, probably newly married}). i think you're extremely attractive and you have a certain charm about you, but you've got a wife at home, waiting for you, trusting that you are on this business trip of yours doing only that, business, and honoring those vows you made to her. 


no, it's not like that. really, this is for a friend, it's for a friend, i would never cheat on my wife.


okay then, ed, have a good night. 


let me tell you why i found the whole thing tremendously offensive. adultery aside. cheating aside (i mean, really, don't get me started on that. or the fact that he looked at me and thought i'd be okay with those things) nothing makes me angrier than when the man tries to make the woman the fool. for a friend? really, for a friend? gas-lighting on a grand scale. do not play me the fool. and do not make a fool of me. do not make me feel as those i misread the very clear signals. do not make me feel like i was the one who should be embarrassed for being so presumptive as to assume you were flirting. because the thing is, i want to take what you're saying at face-value. but by believing that, i undermine what just happened on the experiential level and find myself at odds with myself. don't lie to me and do not insult my intelligence.

i keep thinking about this because it happened on a much smaller scale recently. and what kills me, is that men think they can do this (and it's a pride and preservation thing, i get it)--but they think they can do it (sacrifice you) and then continue on and pretend as if life should continue normally.

good news is, the more it happens, the better i get at identifying it, and doubting them, before i doubt myself.






don't know what gaslighting is? look here. and here. 

on repeat.

"there is nothing you have done that has been wasted"

(think on that).

WHERE TO EAT IN NYC// buvette

my girlfriend Ashlea is the authority on all places to go in new york city--not sure how she accumulated so much knowledge so quickly (though i have a suspicion it has something to do with her dapper boyfriend john). when she suggested buvette and touted it as a little bit of france right here in new york city, i. was. in. 

it has quickly become one of our favorite little spots. it is small, intimate, and over-flowing with character. we sit at the marbled-counter-bar, oggle all the cute guys behind it, and nosh on really good pesto, beets, and leeks. 

and if wine is your thing, this is the place. 

(did i mention it stays open until 2 am?). 

name: buvette

location: 42 grove street

neighborhood: west village

phone: 212-255-3590

subway directions.

gadchick: issue 2

i was beyond humbled when asked to contribute to issue two of gadchick. 

to be included among such stellar women, oh-boy-i-tell-ya. 

i wrote about the important issue of self-portraiture in my usual tongue-in-cheek irreverent style (thats the hope, at least). but i do think there is a lot that can be gained by standing in front of a mirror and taking your own photo. want to know what it is? 

...

well read the magazine won't you?

read gadchick here. 

a letter from me to myself. (the wiser, lived-in part, to the day-to-day me).

darling girl,

write for yourself.

sure, yes, okay. yes, it was easier when you began and no one was looking and no one was watching and no one was needing, but for you. and yes, that's changed. and so okay, maybe it's not as easy. and maybe you can't run into an old-friend-such-and-such at the 18th street station and promptly write about it.

or maybe you can.

maybe you can and maybe you should.

quiet those voices. those outside voices, those terribly unhelpful, intrusive voices, politely tell them to shove off. you get to do that darling girl, you get to ask them to shut up, that is your right, your perfect grace.

writers are always selling someone down the river and mostly it will be yourself--this is how you write. but sometimes it won't be. sometimes it will have to be someone else. make peace with that. forgive yourself that. you have your four or five that you will protect with a ferocity you've only just begun to discover, but save for them, the others are not your responsibility.

write.

stop letting others dictate the flow of the current with their shoulds and woulds and buts and can'ts. politely tell them to get their oar out of your creek and get on with it.

write for yourself darling girl and get on with it.

there will be those who don't like what you have to say. let them. let them dislike it.

and there will be those who will diminish and demean--who will shrink you down--stamp you with flimsy adjectives and pallid labels in an effort to make more sense of you.

you are not to be made sense of! you, darling girl, are not to be made sense of. you are bigger than that.

and for the love of all that is good and holy please stop worrying about who may or may not read this. about what ex-boyfriend may see something unflattering or what boy may take a phrase and decide that it's his and run with it. i got news for you kid, you can't control that part. and yes, darling girl, you got screwed recently. fate threw you a nasty, little curveball. it was just about as shit as shit can be, but let's talk about the remarkable thing: you're still standing. and you used your voice. no small feat, my dear. it may feel large and unjust now and okay, let yourself feel that, but the whole thing--that whole unfortunate situation will prove a footnote of this story, i promise you that.

so now use your voice here. write.

what you're really afraid of is that he or him or what or not might glimpse your capacity to love. and you yourself are only just waking to the wealth within you and it's startling. i know that. the extent, the boundless measure of it, is almost alarming. do not be frightened by it. this is the source of your power. and if another is put off by it, that's on them, darling girl, not on you. think of it, someone alarmed by the strength and potency of your love? that is a person you simply don't need darling girl.

and now i'm gonna give you a gift. ready? i'm gonna give you permission to say no to that second cup of coffee with that boy or that man or that guy on the cusp who you know is not right for you. politely excuse yourself and politely move on. don't apologize for knowing what you want or honoring the push of your gut. your gut is strong my dear. and loud. lordy is it loud: listen to it, trust it.

move on and write anyway.

links and such.

my laundry is done, but yet to be taken out of the basket. i can't seem to catch up on all the sleep i lost over the last seven weeks, but don't think i haven't seen some good things on this here world-wide-web:



this had me rolling. (those really good king of laughs).

the woman behind the dear, sugar writes essays and books. (really good ones). like this.

dr. dog was my first live concert so they hold a special place in my heart. their new album is quite good. in particular, this song makes so much sense to me.

speaking of songs: regina's got a new one!

i'm in need of some snow boots and these look pretty darn good. any thoughts?

speaking of snow, what are all the cool kids wearing on the slopes these days?

and finally, as if i didn't already love ron swanson...