Big wheel spinning

As far as witches go, my friend Zelda is the good kind. She’s good in that she excels at witchery and she’s good in that she uses her powers for positive missions. One of my oldest and closest friends in Austin, I still find Zelda to be like an old, ornate chest of drawers. One drawer is for the silver; another is for the skeleton keys; that one over there is for video games. One of the nooks in the mysterious Zelda hutch is her tarot reading. 

At her summer solstice party (because of course she had one), we drank too many margaritas, had some Victorian-recipe desserts, and ducked into her bedroom to get our cards read. One-card readings are always the best for my short attention span, and that’s all we had time to on the solstice. I’ve written about the ups and downs of my year, and the beginning of the summer marked the beginning of some deep dark caves – but also some truly surprising bright spots. 

Zelda pulled the Wheel of Fortune card. She noted that she doesn’t pull this card very frequently, that it was special. Reading up on this card again, my sources repeat the same three elements: Good change is coming; it’s out of your control; accept it and accept help.

About 45 minutes, Sam pulled the same card.

Believe in tarot (exciting, fun, spooky) or don’t (stodgy, know-it-all, no fun alert), it’s not my problem. But in the months since June, I have been in the depths of changing antidepressants. I have had unprecedented self-loathing. I have felt isolated and confused. But in all of these dark places, there was something pulling me up. I was down in the water and the wheel of a mill kept picking me back up by the seat of my pants, without me having to struggle. I passed a certification test I felt unprepared for. Sam got another job. I got asked to write for a blog I really love. I had great luck with my Patreon. When I was feeling dumpy, a street style photographer posted my outfit. When I was feeling tired and boring, Spotify spurred us to get out and see some truly incredible artists.

The wheel of fortune is real, baby, but I have a secret: the call was coming from inside the house. This lucky card gave me a way to thank the universe for things that we had both worked hard for. It gave us an excuse to be pulled by the current of universal goodwill that we had paved the way for, but only so few get when they really need it. 

I am letting the wheel keep turning. Let your most open-minded friends open your mind and let the good stuff in when you’re used to paddling upstream for your big break. 

The Wedding Planner (I’m J. Lo)

I love songs about the wonders of the universe – the big, mysterious treasures of our world – that include a sweetheart. I love Jens Lekman’s “How We Met, the Long Version” that begins at the big bang and ends with a first kiss. I love Kacey Musgrave’s discussion of photosynthesis, neon fish, “and then there is you.” I love it when Brian Wilson sings that you’ll never need to doubt his love, “as long as there are stars above you.”

So I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise when I tell you that I’m a romantic. When I met Sam, I was completely burnt out on online dating, on hopes up and hopes in the trash, and on opening myself up to the possibility of a real partnership. Our relationship was a slow burn (Kacey Musgraves again), but once he pried my heart open with a crowbar (which included homemade steak dinners, feats of courage, and open-minded listening), I’ve been hooked ever since.

In addition to being a romantic, I love a project. I’ve painted series such as heroines, online cats, and myself; I’ve done cooking projects like learning to cook all my favorite soups from Soupbox; and I’ve made something every day of a whole year. I love a list to color-code and cross-reference. I love to X things off and add bullet points.

I am not, however, someone who grew up with elaborate daydreams about my wedding. I did ask my mom if I could wear a green pantsuit (yes) and if I could marry my favorite person (her – and no), but that was the extent of it. As a dedicated daydreamer, romantic, and project planner, my enthusiasm about my own wedding came along with our (mutually agreed upon) engagement. Suddenly, a big ole party to plan with all my favorite people and my most favorite person of all. No cats allowed, unfortunately.

Wedding planning has become a way to deal with my anxiety and burnout from daily life (the grind, the news, the World Cup, etc.). It also causes a little of the anxiety, but then it again soothes the anxiety, like a snake eating its own tail. Wedding planning has become part of my expression of creativity and my self-care, and much of what I’ve learned can carry over to any big, explosive life situation – be it good or bad:

  1. Choose a menial task that brings you joy when things stop being fun

For me that’s been making pom poms. Lord, do I love a pom pom. The pom pom making came about from my anxiety about living flowers. That’s right, baby – I can conjure anxiety from just about anything, first of all, nature. In an effort to limit the amount of blooms we’ll be paying for and arranging feverishly right before the big day, I wanted a long-term DIY project that could be a little more representative of our style and values. I’ve made about 100 so far, and found myself wrapping colored yarn around the pom pom contraption after my (second – not my fault) car accident in as many months. Something fun can come from my negative energy, and the fun can help dissipate the bad mojo.

  1. Give your money to people who seem cool

When we started our venue hunt, there was one place that seemed like the clear winner. It was psychedelic, beautiful, quirky, strange, and large. It was the weirdest place I could imagine getting married in Austin, and I had to have it. The man who showed us around was delightful, but extremely hands off. He didn’t care to know about us as people or our vision, and he certainly wouldn’t be there on that day. Sam encouraged me to be open to other places, so we trudged down a gravel driveway toward Tiny T’s ranch house to meet Spike.

Spike told us incredible stories of fun and love that had taken place on the ranch. She showed us wedding albums and showed us her home. She introduced us to her horses and asked about us. She told us the incredible story of the tiny chapel that sits in the pasture. She is a writer (like us!) and a lover of love (like us!). She was open and accommodating. We shut the door to the ranch house, looked at each other, and said, “That’s the one.”

Meeting with Spike helped cement the philosophy of my wedding planning that had been floating around in my conversations with Sam. Not only are the vows, playlist, centerpieces, food, and wedding party a reflection of our life together – so are the people we give our money to. These are the people who aren’t family or friends, but are so intimately connected to us that it should absolutely be someone who wants to get to know us and who is excited about what we want to do. People who take your spark of excitement and light their own are so important to your projects. We used this rubric to pick a wedding coordinator, photographer, and party. So far, so good!

P.S.

For me, this means hiring a lot of women who are vouched for by other women. Incorporating women into your wedding is one feminist wedding tip from our amazing photographer Diana Ascarrunz.

  1. Ask for help

This is a hard one for me. I’m not a control freak (I’m a control friend) but I do often feel like, if I need to get something done, the most reliable person I know is my damn self. I’ve asked for Sam’s help with all manner of things, and he’s always game, as my partner in planning. The harder part for me is asking for favors, discounts, and money (surprise: a state of Texas employee cannot pay for the wedding of the frickin’ century on her astronomical, Elon Musk salary).

So far, I’ve learned that my instinct to ask for lower prices is a good one. People understand all too well that weddings are expensive and they do what they can to help, especially if you’re planning far ahead.

I have an army of creative friends I can’t wait to ask for help as I take on more and more idiotic DIYs while living in a one bedroom!

  1. Give it a day

Lord, I am bad at this one. When I want something, I want it. Right. Now. But that’s why I have a Sam. He has a rule of threes – we have to pursue three options before deciding on anything big ticket. This has made all the difference. This is a double lesson: listen to your collaborators and hold your horses.

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Woo! That’s me getting over my big fear of oversharing about wedding planning. I’m so open to all of your tips about wedding planning, big projects, collaborating, hiring helpers, ETC. and on and on forever. Please give them to me!

The Flamingo Queen: This Is 30

I’m a straggler – so many of my friends are already in their dirty, flirty, nerdy 30s and loving it, even those who had to be dragged kicking and screaming into their own 30th birthday parties. This is (mercifully!) the last month of my 20s, with only 17 days to go. As I hurtle head-on into that milestone, I’ve been taking stock of my life. There’s a lot of talk in those horrible “Why aren’t millennials buying Ferraris?” articles about people of my generation not being where we thought we’d be, mostly based on our parents’ lives, at this age. I’m not a homeowner (thank GOURD – if I ever have to do a lawn care task, it will be too soon), I’m not married (on my way there), I’m not making enough money to support a family, and I haven’t made a name for myself in my career, in my artistic life, in my popstar aspirations (Emma XCX), etc. On this blog I spend a lot of time musing on what I’ve learned, but today I want to imagine the person I hope to be in my 30s, the things I hope to learn, and the cocktails I hope to drink.

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  1. Try an aperol spritz: what are they? People in New York drink them. I want one.
  2. Wear jumpsuits: you’re really cool if you wear a jumpsuit, it’s science. I must find one that works for my decidedly short corporeal form.
  3. Speaking of the tragedy of corporeality, stop self-body shaming. Part of this is knowing who I am and demanding people give me respect and adoration where I am in the present.
  4. Enjoy the silence. My therapist always asks me why I’m afraid of being boring, and I get all in a huff. I’m not afraid of being boring – no chance – I’m afraid of being bored. But why? One goal is to let there be empty parts of my life and to stop filling every nook and cranny with the junk food of life: people and things that make me feel bad in the end.
  5. Paint more. Yesterday, I was so tired from work and post-work weight training that I could barely stand to paint. But I did it. I painted three strokes and collapsed into couch potato life. Forcing myself to do a tiny bit is better than adding another day to the creative trash heap. Keep going.
  6. Challenge myself physically.
  7. Go to Big Bend. When I was 13, I went to Santa Fe with my mom to see Ghost Ranch, where Georgia O’Keeffe lived and worked for so many years. I still look back at those drives through the desert with boundless fondness. The desert: a land without allergies. An endless landscape of reds and purples. I want to feed that part of me that is a baby Georgia O’Keeffe. I know this is possible without (gulp) camping, and I’m ready to make it happen.
  8. Ride my god dang bicycle, which has sat lonely in the below-the-stairs bike rack since LAST MAY.
  9. Walk, walk, walk.
  10. Be proactive about my health. This means finding a doctor I don’t actively loathe, continue collecting sensible footwear, and skipping the third glass of wine.
  11. Plan the most Sam and Emma wedding possible – and don’t cave to the pressure to do it any other way. That’s right! I’m buying the pink flamingos that are on my wedding Amazon wish list. Wedding spoilers abound!
  12. Cultivate a community where we live. This is the first home I’ve ever had as an adult where this feels feasible. Our neighbors look out for each other, bring by treats, finish bottles of wine with us, take in our stranded packages, and share their dogs. I want to work on being a neighbor I would enjoy and appreciate.
  13. Wash my face every night, even on nights when I could fall asleep sitting up in my clothes.
  14. Volunteer my time.
  15. Learn a new craft. I think I might be ready to take the plunge into fiber art, after months of channeling my wedding anxiety into pom poms.
  16. Practice for skeeball. I’m pretty good, but I could be very good, right? 
  17. Send care packages. This used to be one of my favorite activities. I love assembling prayer candles and candies and shipping them to the people I miss so much.
  18. Defend myself when I’m feeling attacked. Boy, is this a big one this week. After a crappy interaction with a doctor and a friend, I smiled and nodded and, in so doing, internalized some of their piss poor attitudes about me. I bounced back, but why didn’t I speak up? That’s not me. Defending oneself is often about being vulnerable, almost crying, and trying to control one’s temper and timbre. Why don’t I trust myself to do that? I am powerful.
  19. Listen to a new band every week.
  20. See live music two times per month. A new study finds that seeing live music twice a month can help you live happier and longer. Let’s live forever, baby!
  21. Seek adventures, big and small. Take the long way home. Say yes.
  22. Wake up early. Early mornings, my old friend, make me feel more like myself and are the engine of my creative life.
  23. Keep in touch with people I miss and love.
  24. Pay compliments.
  25. Go to therapy regularly, even though it’s expensive and sometimes I don’t have much to say. Keep pushing.
  26. Hustle. Promote my business and make art that changes people’s moods.
  27. Save money. Hello, wedding joint savings account, my first real foray into saving (that’s right, mom).
  28. Support my friends’ art. They’re incredibly talented and deserve my attention and money.
  29. Push myself at work. Put in the time.
  30. Be the Flamingo Queen. A couple of weeks ago, I wore this dress. I was nervous to attend a formal event in something so Emma and so loud, but all night, people (timidly and bombastically) came up to me to pay compliments to the blessed dress. Getting in the elevator after the wedding, a little girl said to me, “I like your dress.” Then, quietly, she turned to her mom and said, “She looks like the Flamingo Queen.” The happiness and wisdom I gained in that moment is unparalleled in my 20s. People respond to positivity, to me being myself, to statements, and to playfulness. I had felt unsure if I was still young enough to make that statement and to be the Flamingo Queen, but b*tch, where’s my crown? Watch the throne: 30-year-old Emma is coming.

Block party

When I started this blog in September 2016, I was a bit of a mess. I felt really isolated, really bad about my current state of affairs, and really ready to make a structured change. Some things about the blog have improved my life significantly – writing about weight gain and how to be honest with myself come to mind. Some things have not stuck the same way – I’m thinking of pieces about getting back to old habits and de-cluttering my dresser (oh lord, if you saw my dresser now, dear reader). Writing has always been a way to narrativize my existence, a way to create a vision of progress when the predominant feeling is stagnation. There’s a whole field (that I don’t understand!) called narrative medicine that studies patients telling stories rather than just describing symptoms, and how it helps physicians understand the individual and their affliction more fully. This field has always given me a sense of validation for my writing and my storytelling – if a doctor thinks stories save lives, well then, my GOD…

Sometimes, just sometimes, the chaos and mess in my life resist the pull of narrative like a cat resists taking a pill. I worship stories about the magic of the ordinary, certainly (please see my masters thesis) but if you’re not Virginia Woolf (I’m not), telling a story of how you went home, idled on the couch until the sun went down, and went to bed – well, let’s just say that you might not be all that compelling.

My problem isn’t writer’s block exactly – it’s something more existential. Liver’s block (that sounds like what happens to you after the infinity ciders of SXSW)? Framer’s block? Experiencer’s block? Unable to tell the story of my progress to myself, I am unable to make art from it. I don’t feel like I’m learning to live and care for myself better, and as such, I’ve written a big, fat, critically-scrutinized THE END.

Once a year, SXSW comes around and reminds me about the best parts of my life and my city, and this year, it has kicked my experiencer’s block right in the tush. The fun and activity of new experiences has me shook. Now’s not the time for major revisions to the narrative of my life – it’s time for a new story entirely. I used to start new stories with great frequency earlier in my twenties. I wrote an academic story, then I wrote a lapsed academic story.  I wrote a bad boyfriend story or two that were published to fan acclaim. I wrote a new state story that was warm and inviting. I wrote a serious story, I wrote a funny story, I wrote a drunken sea shanty. You get the picture. It isn’t the characters or the setting that need retooling. No, it’s the life inside the narrative itself that needs to be willed into existence. I need to strike the right tone, to make the big choices, to discover hidden truths in the same old structures that I still call home.

I’ve decided to start with short stories – with little somethings about how I spend a day. I’ll post the greatest hits here. Other creative people, I’d love it if you could submit your own one-day-stories that I can share with my people. How are you understanding your own progress in the context of your ordinary life? What’s the driving force, who’s the antagonist, and what’s the style? Together, let’s see if we can start a new story.

If I shine

I have always been good at friends (braggy, I know). I don’t mean to say that I’ve always had a ton of friends, or felt extremely close to the people around me; I mean that the people I choose to share myself with are special. I don’t suffer fools, and I make a special effort to connect with people who are creative and dedicated to their own happiness in an authentic way. I have had my share of bad feelings about being locked out of groups of people (even lately! I’m almost 30!) but usually, upon reflection, it’s the people who (like me!) want to cultivate a totally welcoming, collaborative lifestyle that make me tick.

Most of this skill I’ve developed is selfish. Ann Friedman and Aminatou Sow coined the term Shine Theory™ to talk about women reflecting success onto each other – if I shine, you shine. I find this to be an incredibly helpful attitude when approaching my friendships. I like to be around people who bring out my best qualities, and I like being around people who I’m happy to pour my positive attitude into. I also take particular joy in someone telling me, “You have the best friends.” I do – and they’re yours for the sharing.

I write about friendship today because I’ve been in a creative rut. After a month of super intense painting in December, I took a month off and found my writing practice fall off too. The only creative pursuit I could really engage with was making pom poms – something I’m doing with my wedding planning energy for decor. Wedding planning has been a fun way to channel the tepid stream of my creative energies into something real – but let’s be real: my wedding is more than a year away, it’s one day of my life, and I have things to write and paint somewhere inside of me in the meantime. Since December, I’ve painted two things and written one post. How’s a girl to blow away the cobwebs?

Sometimes, I have to dig into my friendships to find the positive energy I can’t find within myself. Last month, a long distance bestie came to visit and reinvigorated my appetite for fun. Spinning around the dance floor at the White Horse, blurry-eyed and fancy-free, I remembered that I have a sense of adventure. Walking through Pease Park, I remembered I had a sense of reflection. He had given me back two of the key ingredients of my creative self.

Another good friend has asked me to support her – and to have her support me – in maintaining creative goals. We’re two writers – check her out at www.rosetruesdale.com – her in a state of transition in Berlin, me in a state of (reluctantly and enthusiastically) settling down in North Loop, Austin. My goal was small: to write once a week every week of March. When my alarm goes off, I think to myself, is today the day? Most days the answer is no. Today is the day to sleep my head off. But having some accountability meant that today, feeling rested, I cracked my knuckles over my 9-year-old laptop and here I am.

Sometimes, digging deep isn’t enough. I’ve learned to not get too freaked out by the ebb and flow of my creative tides, but I know that I feel better when I’m putting myself out there. That’s where you come in. What are some ways you motivate yourself to keep going? What are small goals and projects that bring you joy? Who are your creative engines – your motivators, who you know or don’t? If you shine, I shine – let’s hear it.

Super Us

Years ago, when I was feeling especially normal and non-super, I read Emily Gordon’s fantastically silly Super You, a self-help book about using your past and your weaknesses to become powerful. Gordon, who you may know as the writer of The Big Sick, says, “Change is mandatory, growth is optional, and greatness is inside all of us.”

I’ve changed, I’ve grown, and I’ve gotten slightly, steadily better at acknowledging my greatness – but lately I find that so much of my power is derived from the greatness in other people. I’m planning a wedding, and you can find me slack-jawed looking at a chateau wedding with thousand- dollar napkin budgets on wedding blogs, wondering just how we are going to do it. As I ride a rollercoaster that is so far very fun, with slight obstacles, I anticipate that there will be an upside down portion, a steep decline, and a stretch where we’re whizzing at 100 mph in the dark. However, I’ve grabbed ahold of my wedding motto, and it’s slowly becoming my life motto: people first.

What does people first mean? It means following these steps:

#1: Be super

This is the part I learned how to do from about 400 years in therapy, 4000 self-help books and podcasts, and 4 million really supportive friends. I try to focus on what I’m good at, both in life and in wedding planning. I’m an Information Professional, so I’m able to find information that your average bear might miss. This led me to some off-the-beaten-path wedding venues with a boatload of character. I’m crafty and I have an artistic vision, so you’ll find me on a Tuesday night tying myself up in yarn because I saw something on the Internet that inspired me and might look good hanging from a wedding guest chair. I’m a super planner, so I am patiently (okay, impatiently) explaining my five-hue color-coding system to my eternally understanding fiance (“No, the mauve means we definitely maybe need it – what about this aren’t you getting?!). Like with all of my big projects, I try to start from a place of strength.

#2: Be vulnerable

This is the least fun part. If Batman is any indication, part of being super is that you have to get really mad about your parents getting murdered… or something? I have to feel the feelings instead of ignoring them, and continue to be great. In the frame of wedding planning, this has meant having a glass of wine and sobbing to Sam, “I don’t want to be a normie barn wife” after seeing some very cute, very un-Emma-and-Sam barn venues. It has meant lying down on the couch with my head in my hands when the 3 wedding coordinators we met didn’t seem like they’d be my new best friend. It has meant getting really mad at Etsy wedding dress return policies. These moments of vulnerability when working on a project are the part in the superhero movie where things get creative and dramatic and I usually wake up from my movie-nap.

#3: Find your heroes

I don’t know what the Avengers are and I can’t give it a goog, but I imagine it’s something like a really cool gang of very super monsters and doctors or something. Lately, if I can’t do something alone, I am trying not to blame myself for not being good enough. Instead, I look for someone who can support me. Sometimes, I don’t have to look far. After the Normie Barn Wife episode of 2018, I stopped what I was doing. It wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t our fault. My mom always says, “Be still and listen.” This is a great way for my Avengers (or X-men or Fantastic Four or whatever of these comic book things is most applicable) to find ME. One of my super powers is that I’m a connector – I connect with people and then I bring them together. When I hit the obstacles of not wanting to be married in a barn and wanting our wedding helpers to be totally rad, I waited, and someone special appeared. This means, with a little effort, I’ve amassed a crew of a fun and dedicated maid-of-honor, a punk rock, ranch-owning Austin writer and wedding expert, and a wedding helper that doesn’t balk at the word “port-o-potty” in a world of candy-colored chateau weddings. It turns out acknowledging my own power has magnetized me with other powerful people.

★ ★ ★

Okay, so I said people first, but really I meant people third. Therapists and wedding bloggers have two things in common: they wear cute shoes and they always tell you to ask for help. But it’s a process. Without all of the demolition I’ve done on my hang-ups and have-nots, without those moments of persistent weakness, I wouldn’t be able to find the right help. This concludes my lengthy confession that I have never seen a superhero movie or opened a comic book.

Leave it in 2017

I feel confident walking in my suede gray booties, sitting down at a table and using the language I’ve learned in three years of graduate education, and tossing my (yes, I washed it, and yes, thank you, it is natural) hair – that is until I twist my heel going down stairs, fumble over an answer to an unexpected question, and get my hair caught in those damn little buttoned keyholes on the back of every dress right now. Confidence, you elusive beast, I am ever hunting for you, trapping you, losing you, and lamenting you. Because of this, I live for the unflagging confidence of Myleik Teele – she’s successful, self-made, and honest. Her podcast, My Taught You, is where I go when I need to hear something new in the genre of self-help. This past week, she posted a podcast on things to leave in 2017. She (confidently!) reframed the end-of-year list as What We Learned instead of What We Liked. Always a copycat, I decided to make my own list of what to leave in 2017.

The Instagrammable moment

I love to ‘gram. I love to ‘gram my voluminous feline, Florence, my archival finds, my baby pictures, my silly pals, my brother’s Emmy, sunsets, paintings, and Oprah. However, in some of my most precious moments this year, I sat with friends slumped over in rumpled post-work work clothes, or without make-up eating breakfast tacos, or with wet hair drinking a less-than-picturesque, but necessary, tequila soda. I cried happy tears into instant coffee, I put my feet up in neon pink, paint-covered Jesus sandals, and I felt grateful in my pajamas. My valuable life experience doesn’t always fit a square frame with a Clarendon filter, and as I’ve realized that, I’ve been trying to capture the aesthetic with the app, but gather the emotional someplace else (can I say in my heart? Oprah would). I’m still looking to communicate and crystalize special somethings in Instagram, but I am also trying to limit my ‘gram envy of people with robust Insta stories, clean latte art, and the perfect winged liner. May the rest of their messy lives be as charming as mine!

Self-blame

This one’s a doozy. I’ve learned so much about being my own best friend. Practicing positive self-talk like, “Okay Emma, you can do this, because you are so smart and also beautiful!” has been a great starting point. I give myself a lot of credit, which is easier because I have surrounded myself with people who openly support me. I know when I’ve succeeded at work, when I’ve painted an especially creative painting, and when I’ve been kind and helpful. Unfortunately, positive self-talk usually speaks at a reasonable, conversational volume, while self-blame is blasting its message, Mad Max style, from a wall of amplifiers. I blame myself for fading friendships, for small mistakes, for big mistakes (those happen too), for conversational missteps, and even for not being able to fix other people’s problems. This is something I want to shoot from a cannon back through the first 17 years of the 21st century, leaving me free and clear to live the next 83. But how? I’m going to grab a megaphone and talk back. Taking a moment to have an inner dialogue is not something I do frequently enough. Accepting that I’m not perfect, but that I’m working my ass off, and telling the Mad Max monsters to back off, is how I’d like to spend my 2018.

Living in the future

Okay, if that one was a doozy, this one is a hurricane. I’m a planner. I spent 2016 planning for a new apartment with my returning long-distance someone. I spent 2015 planning for a new job. I spent 2014 planning for a new career. I have spent the end of 2017 pining for a shiny future, if only to distract myself from the American hellstorm raging around me. I think of this as one of the best parts about me: I’m prepared, I’m hopeful, and I’m usually armed with the best party supplies, or housing spreadsheets, or updated résumés. But it also speaks to my tendency to steamroll present moments and to feel bored in the calm before the shiny future. So how best to stop the steamroll? My powers of observation. In this moment, I’m thankful for my mod orange couch and the drool-encrusted pillow where Florence has made her home. I see the painting of a dog’s pink tongue, cookbooks with new adventures for weekends, a cake dome I won in a raffle – all little treats that are alive in this present moment. Goodbye to a life lived in a time machine. 2018 is all about using my senses to enhance my present happiness.

Negativity spirals

I am great at seeing this in other people, but am I any good at stopping them in myself? I woke up an hour late, I forgot my eggs, and no one has fixed the thermostat in a week. I’m pissy to my gchat friends, I skip a key point in an email, and I forgot ibuprofen. The first two hours of my day could easily snowball into a cranky evening. Yesterday, I realized that stopping and putting a tiny bit of sugar in my mouth, or texting an emoji to a friend, or looking up a Leslie Knope gif, easily derails the Crap Train. Sometimes setting a timer and crying for five minutes is just the thing. Crap Train service discontinues December 31st, 2017.

Boredom

This has been a big one for me in the last couple of years. I have a ton of friends, a ton of hobbies, and yet I still find myself curling up on the couch after dinner, an unread book on the ottoman, scrolling my phone and sighing dramatically (I’m fun). A wise flagpole sitter once said, “If you’re bored, then you’re boring” and OUCH, maybe so. I’m compiling a list of things to try during the Boring Hours of 7.30 to 9.30 at night. These things include: baking projects, freewriting, bath time, podcast reviews, sending mail, making crafts, and inviting friends to do things more frequently. Boredom, I’ll see you in hell (after 2017).

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Farewell to 2017, I hardly knew you. May I look back on you as a period of resistance, persistence, endurance, occasional celebration (I see you, Doug Jones), knowing thyself, and, I guess, growth. In the eternal words of Danny Devito, 2017, retire b****. 2018, you’re up.

Matches struck unexpectedly in the dark

It’s day 13 of my favorite season – Thanksgiving Advent. It’s nearly a month of suggestions to make your day a little bit better, and then your month a little better, culminating in the best day of the year: a day to be thankful that you have food, traditions, family, friends, and most of all, you’ve met dogs before.

Thanksgiving Advent reminds me of a favorite Virginia Woolf passage from To the Lighthouse. She writes:

What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.

During Thanksgiving Advent, I try to fabricate these little moments, to take out all the flimsy matchbooks I’ve collected from restaurants and get sparking. Instead of waiting for these daily miracles, I push my friends and family to make them for themselves.

I thought it was time to check in with myself (and you) about this little tradition to talk about things I’ve learned this month. Here’s what we’ve done so far:

November 1st: Uninstall an app that isn’t contributing to your happiness.

November 2nd: Tidy up

November 3rd: List your finer qualities

November 4th: Send mail

November 5th: Order something new

November 6th: Get an audiobook

November 7th: Make a signature cocktail

November 8th: Compliment a stranger

November 9th: Confide in someone

November 10th: Make a meme of your pet

November 11th: Throw out three things

November 12th: Do something you’ve been putting off

November 13th: Vocalize the best in even the worst thing that happens to you today.

The big themes of Thanksgiving Advent are self-care, whimsy, responsibility, and variety, which are the major categories I’ve been working on for self-improvement (except the whimsy – I’m honestly the mayor of Whimsy Town. See Thanksgiving Advent as a concept as an example).

As for self-care, I’ve found Thanksgiving Advent to be a great reminder to believe in myself. I’ve hit some rough patches lately, some personal and some inspired by the onslaught of reminders about violence against women. Above all, I need to believe that I can, and have, and will, overcome what life throws at me. Somehow, writing down that I have good hair and adding a maraschino cherry to a whiskey ginger and pressing the tiny X on NextDoor put me in a place to stand, face against the wind, ready to bop the next whack-a-mole of life.

One new thing I’ve noticed about Thanksgiving Advent is that I relied more heavily on “responsibility” ideas. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m months away from 30, but I have a newfound appreciation for the joy of having done something that I dreaded but has improved my life. Things like tidying up, throwing things away, confronting something I’ve been putting off – these are the tasks that have a long-term resonance on my happiness. Yesterday, I put brush to canvas on a really intimidating, exciting painting commission, and looking at it right now, I feel like a Real Painter.

Today is my favorite Thanksgiving Advent, something I relentlessly strive for on a daily basis: Vocalize the best in even the worst thing that happens to you today. In other words, avoid flailing or wallowing in life’s tiny turmoils or big obstacles. Challenge yourself to feel lucky and to push through.

One more thing I’ve been feeling this TA season: the rush of connecting with other people who just need a reminder to be happy as the days get darker. Lots of you have reached out to say how a particular task helped you. Even more acquaintances or long-lost friends favorited TA Instagrams, or sent me a cat meme. Thanksgiving Advent has me doing some of my favorite things: sharing positive experiences with friends, old, new, and in-between; being the star of the show (being honest here – you probably already knew this about me by now); fostering creativity; letting fate take the wheel; and helping people get over the hump of a bad day. These are my little illuminations, these moments of connection as we share a daily miracle. By Thanksgiving, we’ve built a path lined with luminaries.

Side A

I’ve been on a tear. I’ve been tearing through creative pursuits, work projects, new albums, favorite recipes, and self-help innovations. I’m riding the wave with the ducks I have in a row for the first time of my twenties (and it’s about damn time): a balanced brain, a happy relationship, a decorated home, a great job, at least $100 in my bank account right now maybe (unclear). The thing about waves is that they crash, and for me this happens when I’m required to sit still. The other night, after exhausting all the creative work I could do, I cried because I was bored, because I was hungry, because it was Sunday, because life is expensive, 🎶 because because BECAUSE – because of the wonderful things I’d done 🎶and had left me listless.

There’s no one self-care experiment I’m trying right now, so here’s a post as mixed up and energetic as I am. Lately I’ve been up to some:

Listening

I got the idea early (can’t sleep past 5 am club!) yesterday morning to create a playlist of songs about loving yourself. Obviously it’s mostly Lizzo and Beyonce, but also some Santigold, Amber Coffman, and Avey Tare. I’m opening up this playlist to everyone! Please share with me your power songs.

Reading

I lose the term “reading” loosely here – perhaps scrolling would be more apt and honest. Out of the thousands of memes, I plucked an amazing thread on free/cheap self-help that I found really helpful and I want to keep as a lifeline during harder times.

Experiencing

We all know I love #bossbabesATX, especially their fantastic meets where you can mingle and share projects. Lately they’ve been crowdsourcing answers to discussion questions and posting some of the answers on their blog. I found the conversation about self-care right up my alley, and laughed out loud at some of these cute and honest answers.

Striving

I find myself working through health and fitness goals and being so discouraged by my setbacks, which spawn new and harder setbacks. After some soul-searching, I’ve found a coach who can help me through some of these tougher hurdles (the frequency and consistency of my exercise; drinking; mindless eating). She’s something of a life coach, a dietician, a motivational speaker, and a personal trainer (easy on this aspect). So far, one of the greatest things is telling her some small victory for me and having it be celebrated and claimed, like a mountain climbed. I’ve learned that asking for a little extra help can do wonders. I’m sure some of her wisdom will spur future posts.

Showing up for myself

In an effort to harness some of my creative energy for good, I created an Instagram just for my paintings. This puts all of my (admittedly poorly documented) work in a single place I can point to when people ask what I create. The results have been astounding to me. People have been loving my work and dreaming up custom painting orders. I do my paintings for little profit – I spend a good deal on monthly supply orders and charge about $35-$60 a painting – but I decided that some of my extra cash would be used to help my neighbors in Houston, through the Houston Food Bank. Painting orders are open now – just shoot me an email at martin.emmamarie at gmail dot com!

• • •

That’s my self-care mixtape for right now. It didn’t require too much rewinding or hitting record at the exact time a song came on the radio. It wasn’t given to me by a high school boy in the 1990s. There are no Promise Ring songs about it. Nevertheless, I’ll hope you’ll submit your own tips for me to explore and songs for me to sing along to in the shower. Don’t leave out Hüsker Dü.

Keeping up with the Scorlazys

Twitter is a scary place to a lot of people. Even people whose entire career and ~brand~ was built on Twitter routinely tweet things like, “this website is a trash fire lol” or “logging off forever.” People take year-long Twitter breaks. People do log off forever. For me, Twitter has been a lifeline. After a big falling out with some of my IRL friends in Chicago, people I met through my most Twitter-savvy friend became my closest pals – some even became like family. I find that a lot of my self-care gurus are irreverent, silly folks from that “trash fire” of a website, from @imteddybless to @yayfrens to @emilyvgordon. Just this week, Chance the Rapper tweeted some of the best advice and encouragement I have heard in a long time:

canceling plans to read is ok. skipping a party for the gym is ok. staying home to cook is ok. lets encourage it & respect self improvement.

In the spirit of Chance, world’s cutest Chicagoan, I’ve embarked on some Twitter self-help. I’m ready to share it with y’all, perhaps as a little encouragement for the long trudge coming out of a three-day weekend. Last week, someone retweeted the brilliant @alliewach’s unofficial endorsement of the Google app Keep as a mode of self-care into my timeline. Always game to improve my self-care routine based on the advice of total strangers, I checked it out. Part Pinterest, part Notes, part alarm clock, Keep gives you one button to click to access your inspiration, your calendar, your grocery list, your self-care reminders, etc. etc. forever.

What am I keeping in Keep?

  • My dang grocery list, which I now actually keep up with (har har)
  • A picture of that girl who pulled a sword out of a Cornish lake
  • Chance’s great tweet
  • A reminder to run (“you ding dong”)
  • A reminder to drink 3L of water at the end of the day if I haven’t yet already
  • Blog ideas
  • Things I need to buy eventually (a couch, Malört, printer ink – the essentials)
  • Notes from events like BossbabesATX

So far, Keep has become a good friend, something I look forward to hearing from throughout the day, something I enjoy looking at in my downtime, and something that sets me on the right track. Adding another app to the mix has proven a great way for me to stay off Notes and alarms and also saves me hours searching “girl sword England” every time I want to send it as a funny (arguable) response.

Now that that’s all out in the open, logging off forever.