Not Your Average Gal

Copywriter. Content Creator. Constant Sassypants.

Musings

Here’s Your Permission to Change Course

By

A completely unstaged photo in Sydney, Australia.

Updated February 2022

So many of us grew up with this notion banged into our heads that we should find a career path, maybe switch positions or be promoted on it, but above all else—stick to it.

This idea is certainly ingrained from our parents, who had the opportunities to stay with a company for 30-40 years, earn a pension (what’s that?) and retire. I get it; it’s easy to rail against a generation ahead of us for what seems like cushy way of doing things. But let me gently remind you with the advent of the interwebs, we have plenty o’ opportunities too.

I remember the first day of my first-ever corporate job well.

Cue the old-lady sitting in a rocker moment.

Walking around in my big-girl pantsuit and Target heels (because entry-level-ish corporate jobs don’t exactly pay the big bucks). I was excited to have a laptop bag because it meant I got a company laptop! I could actually take home my work and proudly power walk to my nearly-paid-off car, casually holding said laptop bag.

Who me? Oh yes. I’m taking work home. So much work to do. So, so much. I’m important.

I was pumped I got to work in a cubicle! I wish I were kidding. You guys, this is how much the notion had been beaten into my head that if I worked for some big corporation, I had made it!

Insert life plan here: Work my way up, coast into my 60’s and retire with a nice party thrown at 3pm on a Friday so people don’t get annoyed they are wasting their limited lunch hour to celebrate a good 40-ish years someone had put in. Plus, then they could leave for the weekend afterwards and that makes everyone at least fake a smile, right? Maybe I’d even get a little plaque with my name on it…

Cue to early fall in 2008.

The financial crisis heard ’round the world.

The Big Three (automakers for those who aren’t from Detroit) were near bankruptcy or days away from declaring it.

I worked for one of them.

In a matter of weeks, the entire make of cars that my marketing team worked on, dissolved. Boom. Done. Over. No more.

20% of us lost our jobs in one day of mass layoffs.

I turned in my badge. My oh-so-exciting laptop. Was escorted to the elevators. And made my way to my nearly-paid-off car. Empty laptop bag in one hand. Cell phone, holding back tears telling my now-husband, in the other.

This corporate getup was bullshit.

That slap in the you’re-laid-off-what-the-fuck-are-you-gonna-do-with-your-life-now face gave me the necessary time I needed to stop listening to the noise and evaluate what I really wanted.

I didn’t exactly have much time either, it was early on in my career! There was a 3-week severance package, barely a savings account, lots of student loans and now a really expensive COBRA to pay to keep the benefits I needed. (This was before ACA.) If I wanted to keep my benefits, I paid and paid big time. For me, it was to the tune of $850 month.

It was daunting.

I listened to that barely audible voice which told me to go back to school and get my video broadcasting certificate, something I regretted not doing while in college.

I pushed the voice down and told her that she was silly. The appropriate thing to do was to put my head down and get another big girl job.

But this time, I had another chance to listen to her and she yelled at me.

Go and see what happens!

So I did. I went back to school. I added on more student loans. Worked at part-time jobs that (barely) made ends meet, questioned myself the whole freakin’ time, and stayed in a holding pattern for a few years while the now hubster applied and waited to get into medical school.

It sucked.

You know what sucked more though? Being at a job that crushed my soul simply because it fit some stupid notion that’s what good girls and boys do to make their way in the world.

I made my way into a copywriting job once the hubster started medical school. Part of the reason I got it, is because I put up a website to showcase my work as a video producer, which had a little ol’ section with a blog that displayed my writing prowess. Combine that with my degree, previous work in the ad world and—BAM! Hey ma’, look made I made it.

From there, I worked my way up, fell a bit into climbing the corporate ladder again, BUT learned this time to leave when it turned into something I didn’t feel-in-my-bones was good for me anymore. That’s when I dove head first into to starting my own copywriting business.

How many of us stop at the previous step though?

NONE of this would have happened if I kept my head down like a good little girl and found another job pushing papers when I got laid off.

The last decade could have easily been spent bopping around from agency to agency wondering if I should do something else.

We stay at jobs we hate because we convince ourselves of the myriad of reasons why it’s a good job, even if coworkers have caught us crying in the bathroom stall, our cars or over our half-eaten Taco Bell because we’ve been too busy trying to complete the task of fulfilling another madman’s request?

The benefits are good. The vacation schedule is better than my last job. They’re nice to me sometimes. It’s better than my previous boss/team/manager. If I get to 10 years, I’ll get 3 weeks vacation! People keep saying I don’t know how good I have it.

Maybe because they’re “good enough” isn’t good enough for you?

Here’s your unwavering permission to change course.

That doesn’t mean flipping the bird to your boss or telling your schedule manager to shove it because you’re heading to the Bahamas to sip on Pain Killers, learn how to play steel drums and find yourself.

It does mean giving yourself permission to explore that something that is nagging at you. That voice you’ve quieted in return for security.

If my story has taught you anything, know that jobs aren’t secure, no matter how lovely the benefits are. This is especially relevant now.

You can fail at what you don’t want. So you might as well take a chance on doing what you love.

-Jim Carrey
  • Take out a notebook and do a long brain dump of all the “silly” creative ideas that fill your soul. Yes, even the papier-mâché making class!
  • Take that hobby you do once every blue more and prioritize it for one freakin’ day a month. No excuses, clear your morning, 2 hours in the afternoon, and tell your partner they are takin’ the kids—then do it.
  • Use those 20 blissfully quiet moments in the morning to investigate the class you’ve been wanting to take.
  • Map out what your next 6 months to 1 year could look like if you quit your job and did something else. (I did this.)
  • Small, incremental steps add up quickly. If you notice you enjoy certain things in your daily like (like cooking or listening to a podcast or singing at the top of your lungs while in the shower), see how it would feel if you did more of that, even once more a week, or took it to a deeper level. Maybe a new cooking class? Maybe a new recipe once a week from that cookbook with all the crazy ingredients.
  • What did you like doing as a child? I love coloring. OH MAN, I LOVED IT. Guess what? I added a coloring book page into my monthly planner that I get to color at the end of every month. Silly? Yes. Worth it? Yes.
  • Piggyback off an already normal habit in your everyday schedule. If you take time to eat at any point in the day, use that time while eating to journal or explore a country you want to visit or finish your meal with a daily 5-minute meditation.

When you start doing something you like, with purposeful intent, little cracks in the made-up system begin to open.

It could look a whole lot like going back to school for 8 months, tossing it up on a website that includes writing about stuff you love and, well, look where we are now, my pretties. I run my own biz pantless in Hawaii.

Now this goes without saying, I also think a lot about how I come from a place of privilege. I qualified for student loans that I’m still paying to this day, but are manageable. Annoying, but manageable. I’m married and that means I fall into that wonderful club of: the spouse with the better benefits gets to add one of us on the plan. I could have totally crap months of income when starting this biz and still be okay because we saved a lot and he has a job.

If you think I don’t often wonder what more I could be doing with my current career, you’re bonkers. It’s doesn’t work like that. You don’t start your own biz and live happily ever after, full stop.

It is always evolving! It always looks like a hot mess of brain dump, after brain dump across note pages and Asana tasks and webinars. I know in the future, I want to prioritize my time to edit more videos and photos. I’ve thought about starting a YouTube channel or podcast for years. I think I’d like to put my writing talents into more charitable routes that include traveling and children.

None of this may make sense with my current copywriting trajectory. It may not be on-brand for Not Your Average Gal. It may be an idea seemingly out of left-field. But, you know what, it could also give me more opportunities.

Go and see what happens!

I have so many ideas mulling around that make me think maybe I haven’t chosen the forever career path and it’s somehow wrong. And that’s where they getcha!

What if your career path isn’t one straight highway of formalities? What if the detours are where you find not only what you like, but what you love?

Keep exploring that!

The key is to set up your life to allow it. It may look a whole heck of a lot like saying no to the things that aren’t serving you—is it that god-awful job?—and yes to the things that melt your butter—is it that photo editing class you keep finding yourself going back to on the interwebs?

The only person who can decide is manning the ship.

I’m giving you full permission to change the course, captain. Everyone else can adjust their sails.

His Name is Tom

By

If you're an OG reader, you remember a time when I referred to my husband as My Main Squeeze. After our wedding—nearly 7 years ago!—he got an upgrade to The Hubster.

I did this mainly to protect him from my entertaining wit and marketing shenanigans around these parts. He has one of those proper, button-up jobs. I felt very protective over him too, it's one thing for me to run a copywriting business that encourages dropping F-bombs or maybe even participate in a lip sync battle in my IG Stories; it's another to drag him into the fray with my antics.

Giving him a pseudonym provided anonymity.

Humanity gets lost in anonymity though.

As we watched the death count slowly tick up, then rapidly pick up at a heartbreaking pace, it's important, vitally important, to know there are names and faces behind these numbers.

Names behind the lives lost.

Names behind the bravery.

Names behind those heading in when others are staying home.

The Hubster is an ER physician in the last few months of his residency. We certainly didn't imagine the glorious end to 13+ years of hard work would look like this. In the final months, we were supposed to be celebrating and packing our home to move. A hard-fought move; one that brought about equal parts panic and excitement.

A move I had already written about to be published on here. A move that may be delayed or on hold, like the rest of our lives.

It all seems so trivial now, even if my heart pangs a bit thinking back to our light and fun celebration as the job offers for after residency started rolling in. That little notch in my gut yearns for the innocence of not knowing what the next few months would look like for us. We were robbed in so many ways.

Including not being given the proper time to grieve over seemingly inconsequential things.

Over the course of a few frantic days that turned into weeks, The Hubster went from typical 10-12 hour shifts in an emergency room to epitomizing the phrase, “All hands on deck.”

Non-stop conference calls lasting all morning and afternoon on his days off.

Hours spent sourcing PPE for himself and fellow residents.

Late nights reviewing the latest statistics and how that may impact his hospital.

Unending changes to procedures, shifts and scheduling.

A constant barrage of calls, texts, group chats and emails from worried residents looking for some semblance of structure or comfort.

And then he went into work.

For the last month, I started a new tradition where I watch him leave for shifts from the front door and wave as he pulls away. Some days are harder than others. But every day I feel like I'm watching him go into battle with an invisible, cruel, ruthless enemy.

If there's anything I want you to take away from reading this, it’s to believe things that may be hard to understand. No matter how hard that reality may be to wrap your heart around. No matter how much you want to stick your head in the sand. No matter if the truth is a sick certainty.

When you doubt what doctors and scientists are seeing, when you question what they are saying, you are carelessly telling them what they’re experiencing isn't accurate. It's a futile mission created simply to comfort your own mind during this uncomfortable time.

The Hubster was meant for the Emergency Medicine specialty. His cool-as-a-cucumber mentality is the one you want with you in the stark, sterile confines of an ER. The guy who puts his head down, mitigates trauma and rallies the troops. As much as I don't want him there right now, I know he's the person you want by your side.

There are a few patients over the course of the last 4 years that The Hubster will never forget; some who have impacted him so much he's even gone to their funerals, a cruel by-product of choosing emergency medicine.

When he speaks about his patients, he does so with a slow, methodical and clinical cadence. He doesn't mention them by name, but will walk through what he did for them and how it helped.

In the early stages of this pandemic, he spoke to me about a woman who needed to be intubated. Her lungs had become so cruelly squeezed by COVID-19 that not even the oxygen given to her was helping. She needed to have a machine breathe for her in the hopes of saving her life. They needed to give her lungs a fighting chance to battle the vicious virus and hopefully someday breathe on her own again.

Intubating patients is an uncompromising procedure with little room for negotiation.

Patients need to be sedated. It can be a frightening process for those of us not in healthcare and lacking the ability to whip out medicine acronyms with abandon.

She was nervous and painfully alone. Families are not allowed in hospitals.

She asked my husband to hold her hand after he discussed the need for her to be intubated and how it would work. They talked for a while about their lives, sharing different stories, in an attempt to make her comfortable, my husband holding her hand the whole time.

She was successfully intubated that afternoon, eased into a slumber, allowing her body to give a fighting chance.

He came home and told me how he desperately hoped his face wasn’t the last face she ever sees.

I asked him to tell me her name so I could think about her, take care of her family in my heart. For weeks, I'd ask how she was doing and he'd dutifully check on her when he was at the hospital.

He seemed cautiously hopeful.

She seemed to be getting a bit better, a fickle side-effect of a merciless disease.

He opened her chart at home one evening on a day off, wanting to check on her.

She had died earlier that day.

To her loved ones, her name was Auntie.

His name is Tom.

I'm forever mindful that the verbs in those sentences are different.

Always Wanted to Be a Superhero? Now’s Your Chance.

By

I vacillate between moments of heartwarming solidarity and then utter disbelief at such poor decisions being made that feel like gut punches.

I fully stand by previous statements I've made while traveling this wonderful world: Americans are some of the friendliest and kindest humans out there. 

It may be a bit harder to say today watching people fight over toilet paper or continue to go on bar crawls.

But I'll still say it. I may say it while gritting my teeth, but I'll continue to say it. I will, because you know what? We're better than that. 

COVID-19 has busted through our proverbial American front door. Truthfully, it was at our doorstep for a while. But we've watched comfortably from afar for far too long somehow thinking our borders were immune to it. I will not dive into the data that supports much more should have been done all along as it's fruitless now. It's here.

It's here and it feels personal.

You know what, screw that. It is personal.

I wave goodbye to my ER doctor husband each day from our large front window that fills the room with just enough sunshine, welcoming spring to come visit. I watch him pull away and I wonder when he'll get infected. 

His chances are higher than yours or mine.

I call my ICU nurse sister each day checking in. Her hopeful voice a reassuring comfort during this uncertain time. I hang up and wonder when she'll get infected.

Her chances are higher than yours or mine.

They may already have it. You and I may too. Collectively, we can slow the spread. No, this isn't to shit on your plans you've looked forward to for months. This is to allow the hospitals to have a fighting chance. In very basic terms, if everyone gets sick all at once, doctors will be faced with choosing lives; choosing whom gets one of the very limited ventilators, let alone beds to lay in. 

Listening to doctors and scientists is something we used to do. Can we reinstate that?

There are only 46,500 medical ICU beds in the US. That number alone does not lie, we all can’t get sick at once. Car wrecks, heart attacks, surgeries, baby deliveries; those all still happen during a pandemic.

This is very real and you not coping with temporary inconveniences puts loved ones lives at risk. Is that worth it to you?

How about your friend going through chemo? Your grandparent in a nursing home? Your parents! 

This is not about me, this is about we.

We, collectively. We, as Americans. 

Your minor, temporary inconvenience of staying home as much as you can is taking care of we, us, the group, fellow citizens, neighbors, as a whole.

I have hope. I have hope that as information spreads, people are educated and make the proper, collectively considerate decisions. 

No amount of hand sanitizer will save you when you're going out in groups, going out for elective fun, no matter how vigilant you are. You may not show symptoms for 5-11 days (or any at all) and are sharing it with others! You are testing the boundaries and saying your life and fun matters more.

Social distancing works. For those who need a visual, this is an incredible source to show how and why it's important to social distance.

One person in South Korea refused to be tested and instead went to church and a buffet lunch. One. She is the source for over 1,100 infections. No brunch or bar is worth being That Person.

Going out right now to have fun because you aren't scared is ignorance and an ugly display of elitism. 

YOU may not be affected by this, but the people you infect along with way may be. I don't know about you, but I would have a hard time knowing I contributed to a scenario that looks like this:

  • I don’t display symptoms and give it to my immunocompromised friend who now has to go to the hospital, which is already bursting at the seams. 
  • The hospitals get inundated with critically ill patients and doctors have to make decisions on who lives and dies.

This isn't a dress rehearsal. This isn't a snow day. This is life and death and you effectively have the chance to single handedly play a positive role in flattening the curve. Stay home as much as you can.

As my sister said, zero people want to have to be in a hospital for the next 30-60 days, whether that's for a broken leg or having a machine breathe for you. You do not want to be there in a petri-dish of infections and potential chaos.

I may joke that as a freelance writer and business owner, I’ve been training for this moment to stay at home for years.

When was the last time I showered? Have I worn these yoga pants for 2 or 15 days? Did I eat lunch?

In total honesty, this feels much different. It’s a choice I have to make for a situation I’m not (necessarily) in control of, rather than the benefit of being able to stay at home.

Social distancing is not a buzzword. It works. It protects you and the people you love.

Have those tough conversations. Ask family to FaceTime instead of coming over. Tell your parents they shouldn't be going out with friends for lunch. Your temporary uncomfortableness at those awkward talks will save lives. 

Think about that, for however brief a moment.

This is your chance to make the world a better place with one simple decision after another.

This is your chance to demonstrate that other people beyond your social circle matter.

This is your chance to save lives.

I don't know about you, but I've always wanted to be a superhero. 

Now's your chance.

As a side note, this isn’t the time to personally shame. This is a time to educate. If people don’t know, calmly explain and tell them. Do the best you can if your line of work doesn’t allow you to telecommute.

If you still know the risks, still see the data, still hear doctors and scientists talk about proven methods of slowing the spread and your choices today still mirror ones you made prior to this pandemic, then that is convenient ineptitude and ignorance.

Personal sacrifices I've made:

  • Told grandma I won't see her for at least 3 weeks
  • Canceled a girls night dinner
  • Postponed a baby shower we were hosting
  • Skipped a volunteer board meeting
  • Haven't gone to gym classes in a week, and won't for at least another 2-3 weeks (this one sucks big time guys, I get it.)
  • If this continues for months, we won't be able to have a party to celebrate my husband finishing residency. 13+ years of work and sacrifice … and it's a pill I'm willing to swallow for YOU. 

I hope you do the same for me.


Who are Not Your Average Gals?

By

Someone who isn’t average.

Done.

But, perhaps it’s a bit more than that. Maybe you’ll even discover you’re a Not Your Average Gal?

A brief preface for those new readers amongst us. Hey—welcome, you! I started this website as a way to show off videos I produced. It was originally named Caroline Made This. Cheeky, right? As I added more blog posts, gained more readers and settled into my life as a copywriter, a rebrand was necessary.

Not Your Average Gal just felt more…me.

For most of my teenage and adult years, I had these subtle, and often not-so-subtle reminders from unsolicited opinions, that I was a bit different. I seemed to choose a path that was far from the standard guidebook to life. Sometimes it was an active decision. Sometimes it was subconsciously. Sometimes it was done while waving my middle finger.

Now, don’t let me paint an inaccurate picture. I was also a fierce rule follower, wanting to please the people who were guiding me in life. I was a good kid, great student and active in so many activities it would make your head spin. But, I wanted more.

I didn’t fit a mold. I wanted to do things myself.

In fact, my dad told a story at our wedding about how I refused to let him help me once he took my training wheels off my bike. I knew I could do it and I wanted to do it alone. He tells it better than me, but I basically shot out of the driveway, down the street like I had been a BMX biker all my life. I like to imagine I was waving the peace sign while I was doing it…

But I always had this urge to do more, see more, be more.

I needed to travel more, as in, felt it in my soul and kept a vision board of the places I’d travel. I didn’t have dreams of settling down. I laughed (ironically) at the “Live, Laugh, Love” tossed on paintings at Bed, Bath and Beyond and manufactured for the masses.

I knew I wasn’t alone. So many in this community felt the same.

Hence, Not Your Average Gal was born during my rebrand. What can I say? I like a good play on words. #copywriterproblems

Since then, it’s been a fun mix of community responses. The majority of which are positive and reaffirm we all aren’t quite so alone in this world. Something that is so desperately needed now in this divisive, often exclusionary life.

I’ve been developing a new feature on Not Your Average Gal for over a year. It’s one that I’ve been mulling around in the back of my brain for awhile, but never felt confident enough to proceed. Then I realized, what the hell? I’m Not Your Average Gal—get it done, chica!

Essentially, and without giving away too much before the big reveal, it will be all about Not Your Average Gals in our community. (Yes, just like aliens, you never know the ones that live amongst us. Dun, dun, dun.)

So, perhaps now is as good a time as ever to give you the lowdown on what the frick a Not Your Average Gal is.

In a broad definition, Not Your Average Gal deviates in some way, shape or form, from the formal standards society dictates to the masses.

This can look like many variations. In fact, I’ve broken down a few here, so you can take a quick glance and see that Not Your Average Gals are a heck of a lot more alike than what society wants you to believe.

Not Your Average Gals :

Have bodies with bumps, bellies, bulges or badass biceps. I have completed an Olympic-distance triathlon, countless 5K and 10Ks and even run 3 half-marathons and yet, I’ve been called everything from fat to big-boned to Caroline McChubberson to chubby girl to La Gordita more times than I can count. It’s total crap. This body has done some amazing things and I’m not going to hide it because it doesn’t fit some bullshit societal norm that somehow makes you uncomfortable.

Feel the same? Then you’re a Not Your Average Gal.

Do things in your own damn time. While a majority of our friends were getting married, the now hubster and I were setting up careers that aligned with life goals, including traveling the world. If had a nickel for every time we were asked when he was going to make “an honest woman” out of me, we’d have been able to pay for our wedding by the time we got married. Side note: If you ever ask that question to anyone in my presence, expect a full-throttle throat punch from me. We were together nearly 6 years and went to 27 weddings before had our own.

Feel the same? Then you’re a Not Your Average Gal.

Opt out of the status-quo. I can’t watch House Hunters as much anymore. Not because I hate real estate. (Au contraire. You should see my Pinterest boards, kiddos.) It’s because of the way people whine about wanting the the same exact thing everyone else has with no thought of what they personally like. We end up in these dull, stainless-steel-appliance-filled houses with gray or beige walls and his and her sinks. If it’s something that everyone else does, or is typically the standard because that’s how we’ve always done it—insert shoulder shrug here—consider me out!

Feel the same? Then you’re a Not Your Average Gal.

Have an insatiable curiosity and open mind. A friend of mine recently reminded me of how I defended her in elementary school when she was the new kid. I’ll be honest, I vaguely remember this. But it makes sense because what I do remember is how kind she was. Sure, maybe she looked different than me. But, I was the new kid at school once and I knew how much it sucked. More than anything, our differences made me curious. Curious to learn more about her culture and religion. What happened in the years to follow was feeding a curiosity that bridged the gap between tolerance and understanding. Psst. It’s called respect.

Feel the same? Then you’re a Not Your Average Gal.

Take a different path than the suburban American Dream. Contrary to the constant reminder of my age from the media, in-laws and that rando relative I haven’t seen in nearly a decade, we still haven’t had kids. Will we? Maybe. Is it any of your biznass? NOPE. Sidebar here: genuinely, curiously asking and accusatorially asking, as in, “your eggs are going to shrivel up, when are you having kids?” are two different things entirely. If you’ve been there, you know what I mean. To really shake things up, I also kept my last name because, well, quite simply, I wanted to. Oh, baby. Ruffling some feathers.

Feel the same? Then you’re a Not Your Average Gal.

To be clear, one does not need to follow all of the above or fall into a sex or gender to be a Not Your Average Gal. How lame would that be? If you find yourself feeling like anything above, regardless of your sex or gender, then guess what you lucky dog, you’re a Not Your Average Gal!

Welcome to the NYAG community, guys, gals, geeks and fellow freaks. We’re all in this together and I couldn’t be happier to have you here.

39 Things I’m not Doing Before 40

By

It’s my birthday this week and I’m celebrating in style—in Hawaii. Imagine me, a mai tai and terrible hula skills. You’re welcome for that image.

Turning 39 has me reflecting on things, especially how I was feeling 10 years ago when I turned 29. I anxiously awaited 30. I was super pumped to turn 30. I was ready to leave my twenties behind and throw duces at any drama that came around me, “I’m in my thirties now, I’m too mature for this.”

Frankly, 40 is feeling very much the same. I’m looking forward to it for the most part because I’m grateful for my 39 years swirling around this planet.

I know 40 sounds scary, I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me squirm a little bit. But, I will not—you hear me?—will not be one of those people who proclaims life is over, we’re old and suddenly cue to the mid-life crisis. People know how much shitting on your own age screams of insecurity, right?

Many people come up with lists of the things they want to do before a certain age and I’ve participated in that previously. This year though, feeling the love of life and new transitions, I want to do things differently.

So in honor of my 39th birthday, here’s a list of 39 things I’m not going to do before I turn 40.

  1. Be ashamed I’m 39.
  2. Provide long explanations.
  3. Feel bad about cutting out the toxic BS.
  4. Wear uncomfortable jeans.
  5. Hang around unmotivated, negative Nancys.
  6. Feel crappy about unproductive days. We all have them, it’s how we bounce back that matters. Oh and we’re allowed a break!
  7. Be a resident doctor’s wife. I’ll be a full-fledged docta’s wife now!
  8. Believe liars change their stripes.
  9. Buy the cheaper drinks. Saving a few bucks isn’t worth it anymore; if I want the more expensive stuff (within reason), I’m getting it.
  10. Explain how I prioritize my life. I don’t ask why you have kids, do I?
  11. Fear making mistakes in my business. I need to be a bit more carefree this year and allow myself to take bigger risks, for sometimes bigger rewards.
  12. Feel bad about healthy boundaries.
  13. Have too many eyeshadow palettes. Is that even a thing?
  14. Follow up or repeat myself. If you don’t get it done or do what you said you would; that’s on you, bucko.
  15. Feel bad for only getting Biscoff cookies on all my Delta flights. Are there other options? I have no idea, I just shout YES when cookies are offered.
  16. Stay silent when someone says racist shit.
  17. Engage with materialistic gossip.
  18. Make excuses for not practicing yoga. It’s okay to skip from time to time because, you know, life. But, I need to remind myself it’s a mindful practice more than anything and my brain and heart are so grateful when I do it regularly.
  19. Judge myself when I feel overwhelmed. It’s okay!
  20. Do tomorrow’s dishes. Figuratively, of course. Because, you can’t and worrying about something and trying to fix something right now that can’t be, doesn’t help.
  21. Poke fun at anyone else inching close to 40. We’re all in this together, guys.
  22. Worry about every pound lost or gained. I’ve lost 15-ish pounds in the last year. It’s felt both impossible and easy. I love working out, maybe not beforehand when I need to get up and do it, but I love how I feel when I do. I needed to focus on my why, which was for my joints to hurt less while working out as I lose weight, which they have a bit. Health is beyond a number on the scale. Mindfully eating and working out without pain are my main goals.
  23. Put such stringent terms on the next 6 months that I don’t enjoy it. Our life will be changing drastically as his ER residency ends. I like to have everything planned. That’s not going to happen though. I need to just go with it and know things will work out!
  24. Apologize for my territorial but loving ginger kitty. He’s a grumpy old man, that loves me and the hubster so much. He gets scared (and mad) around people that are not us. Sensitive gingers.
  25. Concern myself with other people’s issues unless they bring it up to me.
  26. Be so consumed with the end game or being on-brand for my biz, that I don’t experiment more with it.
  27. Feel selfish for wanting to go after my dreams.
  28. Regret the time I spend painting or drawing. More of this please!
  29. Wait for loved ones to be more involved. Lower those expectations, girl.
  30. Wear heels taller than 4 inches.
  31. Be superwoman. She’s a character, not real life.
  32. Be ashamed of my love for seltzer water.
  33. Not watch kids’ movies because I’m not a kid. (I wrote this while watching Lion King on my 6.5 hour flight.)
  34. Have to worry about another year of residency!
  35. Think I need to visit every country in the world instead of revisiting the ones I love. I’m looking at you, Japan, England and Cambodia.
  36. Force things that don’t feel right. Friendships, business deals, see-through yoga pants.
  37. Hold onto relationships that have effectively been ghosted. I sincerely wish them well and will always look fondly back on those fun memories.
  38. Defend loving the Spice Girls.
  39. Be afraid of the big 3-9. I’VE GOT THIS, BOO.

It’s Okay to be Scared. A Look at 2020 and Beyond.

By

Have you seen it? The abundance of posts chanting: O-M-G It's the Last Days of the Decade. The ones that humblebrag neatly discuss the intricacies of achievements over the course of the last decade.

This won't be one of them.

Truth be told, I didn't even put it together that 2019 was the last year of the decade. Mostly, because after the millennium, time ceased to exist or plunged into a twilight-zone-like vortex and basically, 30 years ago is still 1970, right?

I've done the yearly wrap-up posts that aren't just the sugar-coated versions of life and ones that tip my hat at the things I've accomplished. Frankly, I'm quite proud of everything I've achieved in 2019. I got through one of the hardest years of the hubster's ER residency (while still allowing each other to come to bed) and even with the ebbs and flows of a new copywriting business, still posted more sales at the end of the year than the year before. It would be worth a post to celebrate. 

But, with the dawn of a new decade upon us, it may be nice to gently nudge and dive into what many of us may be feeling:
Anxious. Apprehensive. Apathetic. 

A lot has changed in 10 years!

A Decade of Learning

Being scared doesn't mean it's not worth it.

A new decade brings on some excitement about the endless possibilities out there. But, with that, comes its unrelenting, ugly twin: fear. It starts with the seeds of self-doubt and “what ifs,” then morphs into, “I'll do it someday,” and soon, and you find yourself in 2029, wondering where the decade went. Ack. We've all been there. Don't let those fearless Instagrammers fool you. 

Some of the best decisions I've ever made started with a knot in my stomach. The kind that you get when you're at the tip-top of a rollercoaster, just about to barrel down to earth in a rush to the senses. From hopping on a flight to Hong Kong alone, to leaving the comfy cushion of the corporate world, I'm so, so glad I felt the fear and did it anyway. Or at least I remind myself of this while burning the midnight oil, pantsless, figuring out my marketing strategy to get more clients in 2020.

Being scared is okay. It means you're alive!  Feel it. Revel in it. Take it out for a dinner date. Just don't let it make its way into your home, sleeping comfortably in the back of your mind. Let it remind you that some decisions, however small, can be scary because they’re uncertain. That doesn't mean they’re unachievable.

It's okay to be scared. But you have to show up, open up, love fully, fall down, make mistakes, learn, grow and do it all again.

Grow from experience, not bitterness.

One of the ugliest personality traits is cynicism. The kind that scoffs at any goodness in this world. The type that sneers when something goes astray that it was bound to anyway because, of course! Anyone been there? Certainly not me. <looks around to see if anyone believes her>

Growth occurs from planting your roots in the notion that you'll be okay. It may not be what you envisioned. You may not be where you want to be in this current situation. But you'll be okay. I had to trust that notion when I made the 1400-mile move back to Michigan. I would be okay. I am okay. You'll adjust your sails and in doing so, you may find yourself right where you worked towards being someday. 

Growth isn't bitterly blaming your ex for every wrong in your life, while simultaneously proclaiming you've learned so much from that jerk and are hashtag blessed. 

Boundaries are your new BFF.

One of the hardest decisions we can make is figuratively drawing a line in the sand that the way things have been going, can no longer happen on our watch anymore. Not if we want healthy, respectful, nurturing relationships in our lives. Often that looks a lot like setting boundaries with family and friends. 

It can feel so icky at first because we're told otherwise. It's a right of passage really, a family subtlety that seeps into our mindset shouting: no matter what I do, what I say or how I treat you, you have to put up with me because, family! (Many fun people with PhDs will call this abuse.)

The backlash can be big or passive aggressively comedic. I've personally experienced over-the-top, manipulative guilt trips that many Psychology 101 professors would enjoy—and are free to use! Hold true to who you are, what values you find important and know that the boundaries you've set will only be tough for the people who benefited from you not having some in the first place.

Kindness and patience…are qualities not to be trifled with.

Some of the kindest people in the universe are also badasses. Oprah. Ellen. The librarian who fixed my $.50 overdue fee by simply clicking a button. They are all kind souls, but ones I wouldn't mess with when it comes to disrespectfully taking advantage of a situation.

Often when we think of a love that is patient and kind, we imagine a calm world filled with thoughtfulness and ease in decisions. What is hard to wrap our heads around is we can be both patient and kind, while also not allowing ourselves to be unseen or disrespected. 

I once told my sister, I now look for new friends based on how I think they'd react in a public situation where someone was being bullied or humiliated or disrespected. Would my friends stand up and take the person under her wing? Would she yell that you can’t speak to someone like that? Would she stand idly by too nervous to ruffle feathers? Which option would be the kindest to the person being attacked? 

I want to surround myself with kind, patient, feather-rufflers. 

Your voice matters. You matter. You are enough.

A shoutout to all the men and women who aren't feeling okay, but still get up every day and refuse to quit. You are the real show stoppers. We all yearn for connection. We all want to know we belong and matter. That can be incredibly hard on the tough days or if you're surrounded by a not-quite-right-for-you squad.

If there's anything I've taken away from the last 10 years, it's this: I am enough.

If I'm totally alone. I'm enough.

If I'm laughed at. I'm enough.

If I'm sporting my *NSYNC t-shirt, dancing in my underwear in the kitchen. I'm enough.

You matter. Your little beating heart provides something in this world that others can't possibly master: you.

How awesome. You, that is. 

As this decade winds down and a new one begins and we starts to access what they heck just happened, take heed in knowing others feel the same way. Taking note of the things you would change isn't about living with regret. It's about being an accountable adult and knowing you want to do better, be better. How beautiful is that?! 

Side note: I despise when people say they live with no regrets. Frankly, it seems like quite a simplistic, caveman-eque way to live, never having the balls to look back and think, yeah, I could have done that more eloquently. That, that right there, takes some self-reflection. Acknowledging a regret and wanting better. The YOLO, no regerts, lifestyle is nice if you live in a vacuum.

Just think of how much you've experienced—for better or worse—and be proud of where you are, in this moment. <insert internet high-five here> You don't need to measure your failures and successes by noting how far you've come; you're HERE. Right now. 

That's enough. 

You are enough.

Here's to a scary and exhilarating 2020 and another decade of you.