Cheers to a New Year⁠—But First, Nostalgia

It is difficult to reflect thoroughly on all the experiences I crammed into the last 12 months. Until I flipped through my photos from the year, I'd forgotten about entire vacations I took. I met countless new people, strengthened some relationships and said goodbye to others, took tens of thousands of pictures (mostly of food, cocktails and flowers), traveled every chance I got, ate meals that made me feel like I could sit back and die of contentment, danced and scream-sang to live music delightfully often, had a buncha brand new experiences, and learned lessons I'll continue to carry with me and build upon.

During the month of July alone, my parents visited me in Boston, I flew to Utah unexpectedly, I hosted a wake, I won a recreational grass volleyball championship along with legendary team The Nerd Herd, I started dating again after a breakup, I said goodbye to my soulmate when she moved to Puerto Rico, I decided I'm writing a book, and I started going to therapy twice a month, which has been one of the most important, impactful and absolutely positive decisions I've ever made. Hard recommend.

Back in January, I celebrated a year of living in Boston, and in a couple weeks I'll celebrate two. Throughout the year, I gave a handful of tours to visiting family and friends. I moved from Somerville to Cambridge and visited at least seven new cities (Nashville, New York City, Victoria, Barcelona, Seville, Madrid), two new countries and one new continent, in addition to traveling home to Tucson three different times, returning to Seattle, Utah, New York City and Nashville, and taking day and weekend trips to close-by New England towns. 

For friends I've met since moving here, I went to engagement and bachelorette parties, a wedding and a baby shower, and I got to attend the wedding of a longtime Tucson friend. I was equal parts disappointed and relieved to miss my 10-year high school reunion. I went sailing for the first time (not a fan). I gained some responsibilities at work, sang live-band karaoke, went to the drive-in movies, camped in New Hampshire, locked eyes with a movie star, baked a crisp out of apples I picked myself and hugged a personal hero. 

I organized a group of over 15 old and new friends through Somerville's Porchfest, my favorite Boston-area event during which local musicians play on porches for passersby throughout the four square miles of Somerville. On one porch, I saw a band I liked so much that I took a solo road trip to see them in Portland, Maine, (make that eight new cities) and bought tickets to two more of their shows in town. 

I made sure to maximize time spent outside during the 10 days of perfect Boston weather, even if all I had the energy for was laying in my hammock on the porch in my pajamas. Spotify tells me I discovered over 200 new artists, and just for fun I designed custom cover art for each of my carefully curated playlists. I did my best not to miss out on any quality content in this new golden age of television (have you watched Fleabag, Killing Eve and Brené Brown's The Call to Courage yet??)

I ran through airports at least four times, and I barely made it on all but one of those flights. I made significant additions to my stacks of unfinished books and half-written blog posts. I lost my wallet and items from my wallet upwards of 10 times, and I've lost an estimated seven earbuds. 

I sobbed through heartbreak, loneliness and longing. I stayed in bed for weekends at a time, not feeling able to come out from under the comforting weight of my 25-pound blanket. I've been mad at the world and the powers that be, and too many times I let discouragement and uncertainty keep me from doing anything about it. I sat in an oil-and-water mix of emotions when I was together with my whole extended family but it was to grieve the loss of my grandfather. 

I finally accepted that the pursuit of perfection and universal admiration is a losing game, so I decided to start playing a different one. I let go of cherished outcomes and learned to find joy in processes instead. I relaxed my shoulders a bit more and took hella deep breaths. 

I'm a better networker, cook, baker, planner, decision-maker. I'm still learning to be a better friend, coworker, partner. I'm a more active participant in every moment and less of a nervous observer. I'm better at embracing what is and looking toward what might be with curiosity and excitement over fear. I'm more joyful, free, patient, accepting and comfortable, and I'm less afraid.

I still wrestle too often with my inner critic and wonder why things just can't be perfect. I'm still a lazy procrastinator, and I wish I could be on time. I'm still awkward and forgetful, sensitive and emotional, wordy and oversharing, obsessive and particular, romantic and optimistic, but I'm more accepting of it all. I'm more Katelyn than ever, and I'll continue to be.

I end today as I hope to end every day, year, decade, moment: having really fucking lived every drop of it wholeheartedly and imperfectly, with as much courage, curiosity and joy as I can manage.

In the words of that hero I hugged this year, love and light to you and yours. Onward.

It's a perfect, simple Sunday.

I woke up around 10 and finished my rewatch of the first season of Fleabag. Masterpiece. I threw some clothes in the wash and commented on a silly Halloween tweet.

Around 11, I went downstairs to pour myself some cold brew and eat a banana, though I was craving waffles.

While I was in the kitchen, both of my roommates came down and chatted for a bit before leaving, one to take her boyfriend to his first spin class and the other to play in an MIT alumni field hockey game.

With the house to myself, I decided to go ahead and make waffles, and I threw on the newest Joseph album to dance around the kitchen to.

I cut the batter recipe in half and justified eating all three waffles it made by telling myself this meal could count as both breakfast and lunch. I used for a topping some local apple butter I got during an apple picking trip a few weekends ago and ate my perfectly fluffy waffles out on the patio. It's a gorgeous early fall day, 70 degrees and sunny.

While eating, I read my favorite chapter of Eat, Pray, Love (Chapter 48, about getting over difficult love and the real meaning of a soul mate) and direct messaged Liz Gilbert about it on Instagram. Zappos replied to my tweet comment earlier, so I thought I might get lucky with another response.

Back upstairs, I switched my laundry and compiled a playlist for how today has felt so far: sweet and slow with quiet but powerful undertones of contentment.

Later, I'm going to the first installment of a weekly lady hangout with some girls I met at Porchfest back in May. The Facebook event description says, "Presenting the inaugural meeting of the Sunday Evening Ladies' Club! Our mission is to provide a welcoming environment to celebrate the women in our lives. Our weekly(ish) meetings will be a haven to hang out, play games, watch movies, share food and connect with friends. Strictly no boys allowed." I'm in love with the idea and really like the girls who organized it, so I've been looking forward to it for weeks. I even opted out of a road trip to the Big E (the New England Great State Fair) with Rachel and Mike today so I wouldn't miss it.

I finished my laundry and headed back downstairs to make a treat for Ladies' Club: fall mix puppy chow. My new playlist filled the kitchen with exactly the right vibes. My roommate and her boyfriend came back from spin, and we had a delightful little chat before I finished the dishes and headed back upstairs to memorialize a perfect morning by writing it down. Next, I'ma return to the patio to chill in my hammock.

Days like these feel like biting into a big, juicy fall apple picked from the tree—a tiny bit warm from hanging in the sun, sweet but tart, delicious and nutritious.

Part of me wishes I had someone to share these moments with. I kept thinking of my mom and niece, who had a sleepover last night and were hanging out at the playground this morning. How I wish they could have popped over to my place to make waffles and puppy chow. They'd love to sit out on my porch and enjoy the weather with me, and then we could've had a dance party in the living room and walked to the park behind my house. If only Massachusetts bordered Arizona.

But how could I have dwelled on anything that was missing when so many things were just right and wonderful? No, I won't steal the joy from right now by wishing it could be more perfect—I'll enjoy what is.

Delight in simple pleasures, friends. This moment is all we have.

"What do you think about this for my dating app profile?" I text Julia.  

Seeking fellow blob of inconsequential cosmic dust with whom to collect as many joyful and meaningful experiences as possible for the brief and beautiful time we're floating around space on this tiny blue speck. Care to discuss over drinks the insane fact that we even exist or more normal things like the current TV show you're binge-watching in order to avoid The Uncomfortable Truth that one day relatively soon you and everyone you love will die? 

"I can't tell if you're serious," Julia replies.  

"Serious," I send. "But reading it again maybe I could tone down the existential despair just a tad."  

Seeking fellow blob of cosmic dust with whom to collect as many fun and meaningful experiences as possible for the brief and beautiful time we're here. Care to discuss over drinks the absurdity of our existence or more normal things like the current TV show you're binge-watching? 

"I guess the people who'd relate to it are the type you're searching for," Julia responds honestly and with the resigned support that can only come from someone who loves me as much as she does despite regularly thinking I've lost it. 

I spend every free moment for about four days pondering and redrafting my blurb, a process which includes but is not limited to:  

• Creating a "Dating" section in OneNote to compile personality assessments and comprehensive lists of who I am, what I like and dislike, and qualities I'm looking for in a romantic partner and relationship 
• Looking up the definitions of words like admiration, pathological and enthusiasm to make sure my word choice is as accurate as possible 
• Sifting through my quote book for well-phrased wisdom about life, love and interpersonal connection 
• Counting the number of items I list in a sentence because it's often said series of odd-numbered things are more pleasing  
• Literally Googling, "how to be funny" 

I consider using, 404: Profile Not Found. A perfectly endearing and representative description of this person could not be found due to overthinking, crippling perfectionism and a devastatingly low character count. 

I try listing some personal attributes and hobbies—too vague. A line of emojis? Too basic. Short and cryptic, not me. 

How about showing I know myself well and can be upfront about shortcomings? That way he'll know what he's getting into. You've been warned, sir! 

Pros: supportive, reliable, creative, observant, loyal. Can find beauty, meaning and harmony even in mundanity and hardship. Cons: oversensitive, self-critical, long-winded, oversharer, procrastinator, obsessive, particular, insomniac, carbaholic, lazy, worrier. Loved Star Wars episodes I–III and thinks no other Star Wars movies are worth watching. 

Or here's an approach I call Emote So Hard Motherfuckers Wanna Swipe Me! (Vigorous leftward swipes, that is—might as well weed out the intimacy-averse as immediately as possible.)

I want to share all of my life with someone, from everyday mundanity to adventuring around the world. Seeking a committed partnership of equals in which we can both be completely ourselves, will aim to love and understand each other well, and ridiculously admire, support and encourage one another toward our best selves. Swipe right if you're unafraid of conflict, practice vulnerability and feel you have realistic expectations about long-term relationships.

But maybe there's a way I can attempt to convey my many complex and seemingly contradictory dimensions?

I'm good at mingling at the party but really love finding a deep, intense or interesting conversation with 1–2 people camped out on a comfy, quiet corner of the couch. Equally enjoy staying in to binge TV all day and hitting up a crowded bar for dancing or karaoke all night. Happy camper, happier city-dweller. Homebody and world traveler. Deep thinker who sometimes takes things too seriously but loves to be silly and have fun. Sensitive and analytical. Creative and methodical. Organized and flexible. To dichotomous choices I like to say, "Why not both?"  

Ugh, I contain too many fucking multitudes for 300 characters.  

I haven't even started interacting with actual people yet. I have no idea what the "correct" approach is here except that there probably isn't one. I'll never be able to write the perfectly representative profile. I wasn't meant to fit into these text boxes.  

Too bad I can't just link to this blog post. Is there a dating app that allows users to submit a 1000-word personal essay? That's where my people would be. 

Here's what I ended up with for now:  

Happiness is how strong the wifi signal still is from my hammock out on the porch. Social introvert, pathological optimist, experience collector. Into TV, enthusiasm, lengthy conversational podcasts, walking around a new city, efficiency, well-curated playlists, cocktails, live music, making lists. ISFJ 

Amazing Ish

To Listen
My favorite genre of music is songs that sound happy with sad lyrics. In that vein, check out The Decemberists' new album, I'll Be Your Girl, namely the track Everything is Awful. I dig the folk-space vibe. I'm listening now and for multiple seconds didn't realize a siren out my window wasn't part of the song. Also, I realize it's not the happiest-sounding, but somewhat upbeat... perfect bpm for leisure walking.

To Watch
My favorite genre of movie is mumblecore, a genre I didn't know had an official name until well after I knew I loved it. My second favorite genre of movie is coming of age. In that vein, check out Love, Simon, a perfect movie. Bonus rec: dat soundtrack dough. Double bonus: I thought of the movie Comet for some reason while typing this. Great, weird movie. And Emmy Rossum, who knew?! Just finished the eighth season of Shameless, which I didn't think was as bad as people said.

To Read
Doesn't really count as reading, but follow Myq Kaplan on Twitter. (Speaking of following...)

To Eat
Have I already recommended havarti grilled cheese here? Dip that ish in applesauce, just try it.

To Remember
From a wonderfully positive, in many ways, IG account, "flowers are not always in bloom." Off-days are okay. Nothing days are okay. Sad seasons are okay. We can't always thrive.

To Do
I've met some awesome women on Bumble BFF, which a lot of people have never heard about! Women are awesome, and I'm glad this tools exists to help us find each other and unite in girl power. Even those who were in relationships before dating was digitized can now join in on the swiping!

To Think About
"What are you pretending you don't already know?" This is shitty advice in the way that the best advice is the thing you don't want to but really need to hear. I avoid so many things I already know but don't want to admit. Listening to my own inner knowing is really hard, especially because the knowing isn't words. There has to be quiet and stillness to hear it, so I often miss it while attempting to convince myself and others that the thing I want to do is the right thing. The right thing is usually the hardest thing, which is annoying and stupid.

Adrift in my own head

I write this blog for a few reasons.

1. I need to write. Nothing gets processed inside my brain. My words need to come out, and I have a lot of words. My friends and family endure my longwindedness, but sometimes I have too many words for even the people I know. So I write. And the better-sounding stuff I post here.

2. Posting makes me edit, which helps me further process and organize my thoughts. Some things I have written in my digital journal or private blog of sorts make no sense when I go back and read them. They were thoughts I needed to get out at the time, but unedited, unorganized and without context I have no idea what I was on about. It helps me sharpen a skill I enjoy.

3. It takes me out of my comfort zone. I get nervous when someone tells me they are reading through my blog. It's one thing to stand for what I write and know that [a small number of] people read it. It's another thing to stand for what I wrote three years ago. My thoughts are out there, as my header quote says, "for my scrutiny and yours." My feelings are frozen in a moment. My writing, my personality and my experiences are benchmarked over time. It's vulnerable in the good way, and it is equally scary and exciting.

Which leads me to something else equally scary and exciting. I love playing music in my free time. But like writing in a private digital journal, playing music alone in my room is safe and unpolished. When I think about sharing the songs, I get nervous. I have to practice longer, and I can't skip over the tough parts. Playing for other people makes me better.

It's also a tribute to the music that's meaningful to me. You know those songs that keep you going and give words to your feelings and let you sing out your anger/fear/sadness/joy? I'm going to post some of these songs. And you'll see if you listen, it's obviously not about the quality of how I play or sing the song. It's about getting the words out, practicing a craft and being vulnerable in the good way. It's about freezing a moment in time and honoring the season of life during which I needed this song that spoke to my soul.

(Un)lost by [one of my top five favorite artists] The Maine

Wild

There's a Christian book that was popular among my friends and mentors in high school and college. Wild at Heart: Discovering the Secret to a Man's Soul "invites men to recover their masculine heart" (back cover). I read Wild at Heart in college, as many of my male friends were reading and discussing it.

I also read the companion book for women, Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman's Soul, which asserts that every girl, "longs to be swept up into a romance, to play an irreplaceable role in a great adventure, to be the beauty of the story" (back cover).

Though it's been a while since I read these books, I remember the message they presented that men are destined for a great adventure. In fact, according to the author, men have three main desires: a battle to fight, an adventure to live and a beauty to rescue.

That last part, the beauty to rescue, is where the woman comes in. Men, on their own, the books said, need time to fight their inner battle and discover their life's adventure before they find their beauty to rescue. Women, in the meantime, should cultivate their beauty so it's captivating enough to catch a man's attention that he might take her on his adventure.

The same evangelical Christian culture I was part of during some of the most influential years of my life regularly also described men as wild in regards to their sexuality.

So often in youth group I was taught that men have a ravenous, insatiable desire for sex and women. It's not their fault their brains are sex-crazed lust machines. They can't help their eyes, thoughts or sometimes even their actions. Sexual desire is the main, uncontrollable, internal struggle for every. single. man. This struggle can't be cured, but it can be tamed somewhat, so women should alter their behavior to protect their brothers in Christ from stumbling. Don't wear certain clothes, because you might make a man think about you a certain way. Don't be alone with a man because he may not be able to help himself to you physically. Don't let a boy make out with you too intensely because it will lead to sex. Set boundaries with men you're dating, and constantly and adamantly inforce them, because he will push those boundaries just as constantly.

I have so many problems with these narratives that discourage women from their own adventures, extract a woman from her own story to give her a supporting role in someone else's and make women responsible for the thoughts and behaviors of men. I think in many ways the church holds women back and thus robs their own communities and the world of the gifts women have to offer.

But this happens outside of the church as well. Next time you're at a department store, take a brief stroll through the baby and toddler sections. Baby boys have astronaut onesies and get to be superheroes. Girls are princesses. Target carries gray footie pajamas for boys with the Superman logo that say, "Future man of steel". The pink equivalent in the girls' section says, "I only date heroes". Boy clothing often inspires them to adventure, creativity and typically male-dominated fields and activities. Girl clothing focuses on their looks and positive emotions.

One blogger points out the fact that boy clothing is covered with trucks, trains and dinos while girl clothing is often covered with hearts and smileys. She writes, "This got me thinking about symbolism and gender in a brand new way. We know that our culture expects women and femmes to do the vast majority of emotional labor. What I realized on that day is that clothing intended for little girls is often covered with symbolism promoting that very labor…Little boys are being told, from a very young age, that feelings don’t matter, or at least shouldn’t matter to them. They’re learning that feelings are for girls alone. " Don't even get me started on boy clothing that says in big, bold letters, "BOYS WILL BE BOYS".

In a recent London Times article, Caitlin Moran offers the analogy that men are often seen as lions and women as their tamers. When I read that quote, all these things came rushing to mind. Moran had discovered the perfect analogy for how I've been taught, implicitly by society and explicitly by my church leaders, the relationship between men and women works.

I remembered the unfairness I felt for a decade of my life at summer youth group events. Girls were asked to wear shirts and shorts over their bathing suits for the guys' sake despite our discomfort. Yet the guys could wear whatever bathing suits they wanted. We were taught our bodies were the problem because the boys would be boys.

I remembered the undue shame and embarrassment I felt when a close, longtime male friend asked me for a ride home and a pastor standing nearby asked if his wife would be okay with that and suggested we have someone else in the car or have his wife on the phone the whole time.

I thought of another Caitlin Moran quote from her book "How to Be a Woman": "Should women wear burkas? The idea is that it protects your modesty and ensures that people regard you as a human being, rather than just a sexual object. But who are you being protected from? Men. And who - so long as you play by the rules and wear the correct clothes - is protecting you from the men? Men. And who is it that is regarding you as just a sexual object instead of another human bring in the first place? Men. I would definitely put this under the heading '100 percent stuff that the men need to sort out.'"

It made me think of all the times I was held back while the men got to follow their dreams, live their adventures and write their stories. I remembered the confusion I felt the time a male youth volunteer at church was told by the youth pastor he "preached a good sermon" while I was told I "taught a good lesson". See, I could do the exact same thing (and do it better, frankly), but I was technically not allowed to "preach". I remember the lead pastor of our church taking a group of my male friends, all around my age, on a camping trip to invest in them as young leaders.

As I was pondering the lion tamer relationship, remembering the books Wild at Heart and Captivating and thinking back on every time I was framed as less than, one phrase kept coming to mind: 

Let me loose. I am just as wild. 

I am not a princess in a tower. I am not a lady in waiting. I am not a lion tamer. 

I am not waiting for a man to take me on an adventure. My greatest hope is not to be rescued, not to mention that I’m not sure what I’m being rescued from anyway.

 

No.

I am a warrior, an adventurer, a lioness. I am a badass bitch you don't want to mess with when angry or on a mission. I am smart and talented and have many gifts to offer the world.

These narratives are just as harmful to men for different reasons but to the same end: Men are being kept from their full potential by the societal expectations placed on them. Men could be a greater force for good in the world if not cursed by culture telling them who to be and how to act. While women should be allowed to live in the full expressions of their true selves, men should be too. Why do we teach young boys to toughen up when it's more healthy and helpful to acknowledge and communicate our feelings? Why are men called pussies when they express their emotions or follow stereotypically female passions? Why can't male ballet dancers be just as badass as BMX bikers? Can women be strong, and can men be beautiful? Can women be tough and men be soft? Why are we letting external forces tell us who we are and who we should be? Men are not sex-crazed lust machines who can't control their brains or behavior. Each of us is responsible for his/her actions. Women are not any less sexual than men. Women are not the antidote to men's problems, and women are not destined for a supporting role in someone else's story.

We are lions, y'all. Wild and majestic, fierce and beautiful. We are each meant to lead with the (ungendered) strengths we've been given and support each other. Can you imagine how communities and humanity could grow and advance if both halves of the population were allowed to live to our full potential without all the bullshit we currently have to wade through?

Set us free. Let us loose. We are wild. 

Brain dump, go.

I recently read an article about being more productive. One suggestion was to write To-Don't lists instead of To-Do lists. The idea was to identify tempting time-sucks that keep you from what really needs to be done.

TV is so obviously my primary productivity roadblock, as it was for the woman who wrote this To-Don't article. (I wish I could reference it, but it's long gone by now. Skimming articles and social media posts is my secondary productivity blocker.)

She recommended something that worked for her: don't turn the TV on until you've been home at least 90 minutes. TV was a default activity she detoured by delaying it.

Today I walked into my house, and my strong TV-watching muscle memory listed for me all the new episodes I have on dock. (The Deuce and a whole new season of Mindreader, in case you're interested.)

No, the usually less assertive part of my brain said adamantly. (I got Starbucks this morning, which never fails to hyperdrive my focus, creativity, positivity, responsibility… generally every desirable trait I could hope to have is more possible with caffeine… sociability, optimism, productivity, I could go on. I'm a much better human after delicious Starbucks sugar drank.)

No, my prefrontal cortex said again as I literally stood frozen in my living room on my way to grab the remote and sink into the couch in one glorious motion. Let's do better shit for 90 minutes; there will be plenty of time for TV after. (You'll notice my prefrontal cortex uses semi-colons. Obviously.)

With the help of aforementioned happy human drug, the rest of my brain and body said, THAT'S AN AWESOME IDEA, and to work I went.

I made great headway on my To-Do list and, as Article Lady probably also experienced, after 90 minutes I realized I was fine without the TV and kept working on the shit I needsta get DONE.

That is, until a few minutes ago when I got distracted looking for an old file on my external hard-drive and instead stumbled upon every picture I've ever taken in the last ten years.

Brain dump part two, go.

I was especially distracted by pictures of me when I was apparently SUPER DUPER HELLA skinny, though I would never have said so at the time. I opened all these fine ass pictures of me wishing my body still looked like that, zooming in in straight up awe that I had a thigh gap before a thigh gap was ultimate societal beauty goals, kicking myself hard for not appreciating that body when I had it, contemplating how small, unnoticeable, gradual changes over time can really make a big difference and sighing for the fact that I may always look back and wish I was more grateful for what I had when I had it.

I also had an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia for times gone by and friends I've loved. Nostalgia is one of the especially weird feelings because it's happy and sad at the same time. There's such a sense of joy dancing with such a sense of grief. You're grateful for what was while you're grasping at something you can never hold again. I will undoubtedly feel that later for this time in my life, too.

I wish we could travel to memories. I would love to spend a day in that downstairs room off the kitchen I lived in when I first moved away from home. It was never meant to be a bedroom, and it only cost me $150 a month to rent. I lived with amazing women, some of the best friends I've had. We laughed and sang and danced and cried and studied and procrastinated and lived together, for good and bad. We hated each other at times while we were all under the same roof, but looking back I loved it. I could also spend a week back in the summer after college when I moved back in with my parents. I wouldn't mind sitting in on some of my old high school and college classes. I would visit special holidays, loving meals and late night parties for a pick-me-up on sadder days. I would take travel buddies with me for quick trips to laugh at old outfits and embarrassing moments and poor choices of boyfriends. Like I have favorite places, I would frequent my favorite years and moments. I could take in the feelings and environments again and again, making up for times I didn't fully soak in the goodness or life or fullness of a given experience.

Connecting thought, go.

It's so easy to fill the minutes and days and weeks with meaningless shit and ungratefulness and drudgery. Things you don't appreciate now you will likely miss later. Make choices with intention and meaning. Fight for your moments. Be fully here because you can never go back.

Can you tell I'm over-caffienated? Kthxbai.