It’s probably not a surprise that I always wanted to be a writer. It’s all the things that came out of that dream that are surprising. And, just like most writers, it began with a love for reading.
After too many virtual happy hours, it was time for a change.
Usually after I write an ultra vulnerable post, admitting all the things I’m struggling with, I wake up with a vulnerability hangover. Not today. I feel relief, like breathing is a little easier.
I’m in this super deep funk right now where I can’t see up from down. Sure, I can blame COVID, but this has been going on since way before we knew what it was like to SIP for months on end. In an attempt to purge myself of every block standing in the way of my writing, I’m going to be ultra vulnerable here and spew my stuff in this blog post. Get comfy. This is long.
How are YOU doing? How are you holding up? What are you doing to care for yourself right now? What’s weighing on your mind?
I had big plans six weeks ago when we were ordered to shelter in place....
An ode to the five kids who are bored to death next door.
These are hard, scary, and unsettling times. Life is also still good.
I'm sitting at the pristine succulent-lined café bar, the city on pause outside, filtered out by clean air and soft music. An elevator ride away and I’ll be in a smoky lobby, surrounded by bells and sirens, the sounds of celebration drowning out the silence of despair.
Everyone has limits. Here are mine.