02/ 22/ 2015
I spent most of last weekend indoors, recharging after a very hectic work week. It was nice, laying in bed, reading, listening to music and watching television—without the guilt of feeling like I should be doing something more productive.
After hours of leisure, I noticed a pattern. In most cases — the book I read, the music I listened to, the television I watched — someone admitted deeply personal feelings to another someone. These feelings weren’t always sentiments of love. But in each instance, being vulnerable meant risking themselves — and perhaps affecting their future — and that is scary. Think about how little control is maintained when you put yourself fully out there. Many times, the next steps depend on the other person’s reaction, and that’s a lot of pressure to put on a situation.
They say that timing is everything, and I began to wonder, how do you know when the moment has come to put your heart on the line?
02/ 08/ 2015
This past month, I went on my first date in 9 and a half years.
(Let’s take a moment to re-read that sentence… yes, I said 9 and a half years).
I don’t write too often about boys on my blog for a reason—it’s taken me a long time to open up to the possibility of dating anyone again (if you’re curious as to why, check out this post). Dating intimidated me for years, and the idea of becoming intimate or that vulnerable with anyone again gave me too much anxiety to even try going on a date.
But this all seemed to change last month at a party. As I explained in my last post, a boy asked me to play ping-pong with him, and I did. While we played, I remember having a moment wherein I silently patted myself on the back for not running away from him. Even that felt like a big step.
01/ 25/ 2015
I spent this New Years at my parent’s home in Florida with two of my brothers. After much deliberation, we settled on watching Good Morning Vietnam on Netflix as two of us had never seen the film. I had zero desire to watch Ryan Seacrest or set off a sparkler; in fact, I was asleep by 10:30pm. It’d been the most difficult year of my life. I didn’t want to celebrate, and I couldn’t wait for that damn ball to drop. I wanted 2014 to be done.
I decided to cut my loses and follow a different mantra in 2015: why not? Many times in the past year, I’d given an automatic “no:” no, I don’t want to go to that event with you; no, my anxiety levels are just too high right now to handle being around so many people; or no, I think I’ll just stay home tonight. I’d let the stress and dysfunction of my life get in the way of really living. Asking why not felt like a good solution. At least I’d be forced to pause before making a decision, and even if I still chose “no,” at least I’d know why.
So when my friend Lauren asked me to go to a party the day I flew back to NYC, I asked “why not?” and ended up buying my ticket. When thinking about what to wear, I found this short, red, sequined number at Free People. It’s the kind of dress I’d typical make an excuse for, like, “oh no–I can’t pull that off!” But I decided to try it on and loved it.
12/ 03/ 2014
Until recently, I didn’t listen to podcast too often. That was until my friend Kristen recommended a weekly sermon series produced by a House for all Sinners and Saints—a church based in Denver, Colorado. I have a few favorite things about the series: the sermons are inclusive of all people, the pastor is very real and — an added bonus — they’re usually under 15 minutes.
This month, I listened to this particular sermon by Emily Kuenker several times. It focuses on reconciliation, something that I hadn’t really contemplated much before. I don’t mind apologizing when I’m in the wrong, and I get so paranoid about hurting people’s feelings, I say sorry even when it’s not necessary. To me, this is reconciliation. Saying sorry is my way of making amends, of setting things right.
In college, one of my good friends made a choice that deeply hurt me. After a time, I was able to forgive her. We met at Starbucks like we had dozens of times before, and I remember very clearly saying, “I forgive you.” I thought this was enough, my act of reconciliation. But I was never able to trust her again, and very quickly, our friendship fizzled, becoming part of our respective pasts.
