The One Where I Begin

I’ve had a good deal of coffee, a chunk of peanut brittle, and I’ve already cleaned up dog vomit, so I’m raring and ready to go with words. Bear with me. 

I’ve been stressing over what to write, and how to say it. What is going to be my big “thing”, my catch, if you will, creatively this year? What can I create that no one else is doing? Pragmatism at its finest. That’s the way our generation has been taught, nay, programmed, to think. We’re always being shoved full of delightfully sleek designs and lettering, told to hustle or we’ll fall short of our potential. For the overthinkers and overachievers of this world, the games we have to play become a maze of doubt and self-flagellation. I’ve spent the better part of my 20’s trying to figure out how to corale myself into working efficiently while still allowing organic creativity to flow and without jumping off a building in the process. I used to work myself into the fetal position on the floor, crying until my own mother had to tell me I had 5 more minutes to use her living room as a personal dwelling station and do something else until I was back on the tracks. 

Free time, days off, the clock ticking...I have an obsession with filling my time. I have an obsession with making sure I never waste a day. The idea of taking an entire day to recuperate from a night out is appalling to me. My mind screams, YOU CAN NEVER GET THIS TIME BACK! Thus, the reason that I spent the very first day of this year recuperating from drinking an entire bottle of champagne. And I’m incredibly proud of this fact. My very first goal of 2019 was to not meet any requirements or achievements the first day. That’s what day 2 was going to be about. But today? The first day of the New Year and the first day without traveling since I left my secure job? Today is about feeling the effects of sugar and alcohol combined, of staying up ghastly late on a night where we had a “cheek-kissing-circle” as the clock struck midnight because I’m the only single woman in the room and I have the best friends in the entire world who wouldn’t let me feel left out. That first day of January ended up being about sitting on the couch, staring out the window onto Harlem streets and taking in the glorious faded sky while my friends worked in their rooms on audition materials. It felt perfect. I ended up roaming the city, meeting up unexpectedly with old friends and unintentionally flirting my way into a free hot chocolate, all while trying to ignore the mental triggers at every corner. But I said, nay sir, nay sir, not now. We’ll dive into “triggers” at a later date. It’s fascinating shite, that stuff, so stick with me.

In the week and half since the first day of this glorious new year, I racked my brain over what new creative outlet I wanted to share with the world. What can I be producing with this free time, lest I become completely and utterly forgotten by the outside world and deemed a “creative-less drudge to mankind”, wasting all this time and opportunity?? (the internal judge is an asshole) I thought of a “Dogs of Abingdon” series that would be turned into a calendar. Last year I created an “Abingdon: Meet the Animals” calendar, which went over well, but I didn’t find the time or motivation to create another this year. But if the demand for calendars is high, one needs must respond to the call. Alas, a dog calendar for a small Southwest Virginia town turns out to be a bit of a small niche. Surprising, eh? I thought about documenting my travels, planned and sporadic over this next year, but that’s incredibly open-ended. And very on and off. Next, the phrase “2-a-Day” entered my mind during a nap. I would include 2 photos each day, one of my highest point and one of my lowest. I was like, "oh that’s great, you’re onto something." But while meditating one morning, I thought, how the hell will you know in the moment whether something is a high or low? And do you keep a camera with you all the time? And isn’t that incredibly disruptive to your life? Note--I thought about this while “meditating”, so I’m clearly getting the hang of mindfulness here.

Then while heating up a new vegan chili recipe that I tried out, and cooking chicken sausage to add to it (I’m chock full of ironies), words started buzzing and flipping around my brain. I swallowed the last bit of peanut brittle, ran to my computer (avoiding the dog vomit hazard site), and started typing...and here we are. I want to document the journey into the scariest phase of my life thus far as someone who struggles with and advocates for mental health, and as someone who just dove headfirst into unemployment and insecurity like it was the last safe place in the world’s greatest game of “The Floor Is Lava”...with much vigor and viv. This is going to be an incredibly colorful ride, and if I excel at anything in this world, it’s over-sharing. So, you’re welcome and I’m sorry. And I’m still including photos of intermediate value because I’m a gal who appreciates a solid step beyond. Join me, shall you?

My recent roomies and I on Christmas, post-mimosas <3