Imagine that

My life and my emotions are like a giant wave, easily cascading from giant swells to the murkiest bottoms in an instant. One day, I can be bawling my eyes out over the misery of my not-at-all miserable life. The next, I can be praying aloud while driving down the highway, thanking Jesus for beautiful life he's given me.

I don't really understand it. Believe me, I've tried. I've had my hormones checked out. I've been to therapy. I've posted motivational notes around my apartment to remind me to count my blessings. Nothing really works, unfortunately.

I'm finally realizing that it may be situational. I'm a creative, emotional, perfectionist, loving kind of person. While I don't need glitter and rainbows all the time, the fact that I dislike my job (where I spend the majority of my time) wears me down. It makes me irritable and miserable and though I'm looking like a fiend, I have had trouble believing that I'll be able to escape.

Until this week.

It's a great story...

I started freelancing a few months ago for a local magazine. During my interview, I was told that my work may be able to expand someday because the publisher is starting a group of related magazines in the nearby communities.

Yeah, right, I thought. I realize that makes me sound like the world's biggest pessimist, but whatever. I didn't believe her.

Until this week.

She calls me to give me my upcoming assignments and tells me that she's looking to hire a fulltime staff writer in the next year.

Wha????


Can you say ecstatic?

I'm cautiously optimistic about the opportunity. I understand that ish happens and it might not work out. Then, again, it just might.

I might be able to write fulltime for a living. Never mind that I'll probably have to get a job as a waitress or barista to make the ends meet. I don't care at all.

I can't imagine living off my writing. I can't imagine all the doors it will open up for me to pursue other writing opportunities, expand my  blog, become a Zumba fitness instructor. I can't imagine taking my laptop to Starbucks on my own damn time and working on my writing. I can't imagine being able to work late into the night on something that actually matters to me.

It gives me chills just to think about it.

It makes me happy. 

Imagine that.

My Favorite Posts

I'm proud of these posts and relish rereading them. Please peruse at your leisure.

Workplace Haiku 

Waking Up

It's good to be a little overwhelmed

Boyfriend of the Year

I can do better than this

I can do better than this

Last night, laying in bed and trying to fall asleep, I had this thought:

I can do better than this.

As much as I wish I could find contentment in my daily life, it eludes me. I think it's because I thought that I'd have it figured out by now. That I wouldn't still be getting hammered a couple of nights a week or living in some podunk town in the Central Valley of California. I thought I'd be on my way to a fulfilling career and not living paycheck to paycheck anymore. I thought I'd eat healthily and work out regularly and travel often.

That's not the case. At all.

Though I have many, many blessings in my life and I think of them often, I still can't help feeling that I can do better than this.

But where to start?

Instead of grand proclamations, I am going back to the basics.

Cooking myself a healthy, green dinner. Saying no to the emotional eating that wants to take over.

I'm applying to jobs that are a step in the right direction. And cleaning my damn house. 

Basically, I'm doing better. 

Because I can do better. 

Overcoming insecurity

Oy, talk about a 180.

Last night I was all glitter and rainbows, waxing poetic about how everything is beautiful and lovely and I-just-love-my-life-so-much glorious.

Then, insecurity in the form of cupcakes and cashmere swept in and I couldn't shake the feeling that I am c-r-a-z-y for taking ownership of my dreams and believing that I can really write something that masses of people will want to read every day.

You see, I don't want to write about fashion, or food, or exercise. I'm not interested in giving the world a play-by-play of my day-to-day life.

I want to write about things that matter from my own perspective. I want to share my experiences, the things I'm learning in my life. I want to write. I want to share my actual life and not sugarcoat my existence. I don't want to make normal people like me feel like their story isn't pretty enough or trendy enough to share.

Are there people interested in learning about that?

Insecure me says no.

But, I'm hoping that she's just a bitch and I have something worth saying.

I guess all I can do is try?

Only problem with that is that I've tried and...I don't want to say "failed"...but, basically, yeah. I failed. I've had about a million unsuccessful blogs and just one time I want to make something I'm proud of.

I think that is the point of this whole exercise.

I need to write something I'm proud of.

For whatever reason, I'm proud of this post because I feel like I'm writing something that matters. I think I need to shut out negative influences and do what I do best:

write.

A Beautiful Weekend

Wow, I'm just so happy right now.

Happy like I just shook my groove thang in my bathroom mirror for fifteen minutes to Beyonce's We Like to Party.

Happy like I decided to go running at 8pm on a Sunday after watching Breaking Dawn at 1pm and taking an hour nap at 4pm.

Happy like I feel content and ready to take on the challenges of my world.

Because I've been so open about my life goals and dreams around here...ahem, see this post.... I want to share my current Life's Goals list.

In random order:

• Be a professional blogger (duh)
• Write a book
• Be a foster parent
• Travel (a lot)
• Start a free weight loss group for women that focuses on healthy habits, body image and simple ways to work health into your life
• Teach hip-hop exercise classes
• Have a loft apartment in a big city
• Have a weight loss feature in Shape Magazine

Of course, there are many other things I want, but these are my current musts. 

What about you? 

I miss my friend

I lost my friend. I really lost her. I lost something so special, someone I never treasured enough until she was gone.

I feel such a deep grief for Marianne. I think about her often, wishing that things could have ended differently for her.

I wish that she could've had someone other than me sifting through her belongings after her death. I hardly knew her. Just one year of baring one's soul in a group therapy session doesn't qualify me (in my mind) to bear testament to all the things she left on this earth.

It doesn't qualify me to be the one looking at her beloved wind chime every night outside of my front door, thinking of her. It doesn't qualify me to be the one at her funeral, reading the poems that meant the most to her, not even knowing how the hell to pronounce the word invictus.

I just wish she left this earth differently. It kills me to think of her using superglue to affix her tooth because she couldn't afford to get it fixed at the dentist. I hate to think of all of the pills she swallowed on a daily basis to push through the pain of her memories of past tortures. My heart quickens in anger when I consider that she left this earth alone, with only her pet rat near her as she drew her last painful breath.

I just want the best for  her. I wish she could've lived in her utopia: birds and horses and flowers all around her. A beautiful home that she wasn't too depressed to care for. No worries of a crooked cop finding her and shattering her life again.

I wish she could've found peace.

I wish she could've found peace.

Instead, peace found her in death. Death gave her the freedom she couldn't find on this earth. I hope she finds the heaven she deserves. I sincerely do.

In the meantime, I feel like she's teaching me. Helping me observe the lessons the universe presents me:

life is short. It's so short.

I want to find and live in the beauty of my world. I want to develop deep relationships, freely give love to those around me. Help those in need. Truly listen to those needing an ear.

I want to be the best woman I can be. I don't want this world to break me: I want to welcome and face life's challenges head-on, knowing that every moment is shaping me.

Every moment is perfecting me. And, in the end, I will proudly say: I was here. I lived each day, embracing each moment, until I died. I only hope I can leave as much love in my wake as Marianne left in her's.

I miss you, friend.

Waking Up

6:10 am - Alarm one goes off
6:11 am - Alarm two goes off

To this chorus of alarms, reverberating with their annoying chime, I wake up every morning. With a supreme act of will, I haul myself out of the bed. Shivering in the dark of my bedroom, I shimmy out of my sleep uniform and into a ratty sports bra, black pants, tech tee. A different uniform.

Coffee maker on, teeth brushed, contacts in. French vanilla chemicals into my bloodstream, I sit on the living room floor and thread my door key onto my Nike shoelace. Almost ready to hit the pavement.

Hit it, I do.

I crawl along, slowly waking up as Nicki Minaj, Lil' Wayne and Beyonce blare through my headphones. The same playlist as always, but somehow still bearable as my body and mind warm up.

After mile two, I shrug off the feeling of death.

I feel invincible. Powerful. Like I can conquer the earth.

I erase those feelings of self-doubt. I give myself a break from expecting perfection. I allow myself to dream and visualize a life that involves passion, purpose and freedom.

Sure, I have to go to work still. I have to do the song and dance for another day. But now that I know this life of mine is finite, I can plaster on a smile and welcome the day and its little blessings with open arms.