Yesterday I was awakened from a hazy sleep with a text from my landlord asking if I had a check ready for rent and I popped out of bed, immediately wrote one out, and handed it to her as she ran by with her dog, Pepper. Even though I felt a bit chagrined that I had forgotten to put the rent in the dropbox a day before, ran out with a sweatshirt hastily pulled over my slip and was caught sleeping in like a teenager- I was grateful.
It has been six years today since my dad, Hal, died. It feels like that time has passed in a heartbeat yet in the same breath like he’s been in the shadows of my memory for a decade.
*Written October 24th (my mom told me to publish this immediately after I read it to her; hi mom: love you)
Throughout all of my past romantic relationships, I have told one big, fat lie: “I hate romance/rom-com films.”
I can’t be sure if it’s the glowing orb of a moon hanging in the sky like a bowl of gold, Barcelona radio playing in the background, skimming through my amazing nephew’s recent travel photos (Luke Mattson), or being surrounded by moving boxes again that has me feeling overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with gratitude, overwhelmed with wonder, overwhelmed with questions, overwhelmed with histrionics, overwhelmed with my surprising ability to be so surprisingly present in the simple moment of now.
This last week I got to spend time with my sister, Hilary, and my brother in law, Ron at their home and where I like to call one of my “happy places”. The places where I feel at ease, where stress’s chilling fingers find it difficult to find a full grasp, and where I feel unconditional love.
I find it difficult to trust people, and I believe that stemming from that lack of trust comes me being easily irritated. I don’t know if there was a specific time or event that caused me to question people’s motives, what true colors lie beneath, and whether I would be the one, yet again, walking away first.
Recently, everyone and their aunt on the internet has been talking about the “Ban Bossy” campaign lead by some heavy hitters like Condoleeza Rice, Anna Maria Chávez (Girl Scouts CEO) and Sheryl Sandberg (along with all Jezebel readers it seems). While I agree with the core of the movement, I think it’s a bit of a waste of time. Rather than striking the term “bossy” from our vocabularies when referring to strong, commanding women (at home, the office, everywhere)- maybe we should be focusing on how we can continue to be bossy- and in bossy, I mean taking charge.
I normally wouldn’t reblog something from a website called Couples & Co., but this entry technically written by Brad Pitt was particularly moving to me.
Enjoy, disagree, or take away from it. Happy Friday.
To scarcely brush the surface of current political activities in Cambodia: there has been civil unrest, scare and pain tactics from both sides of political parties, army trucks with soldiers in full SWAT gear hanging on corners, widespread fear among locals and some expats, and harrowing suffering for the people of Cambodia. Not all is negative, during the time since the elections, bonds have been formed that haven’t been seen for decades and the youth, individuals aged 30 or under making up roughly 70 percent of the population- have started to push out of their shells, taking risks- sometimes unwarranted, and speaking to be heard and acting to be acknowledged. During what was supposed to be a peaceful protest last week on the Riverside in Phnom Penh, barbed wire barricades and physically harmful methods were used against the crowd. Not being in the midst of the scenes physically myself or having read the full amount of coverage, I can’t say what exactly started the violence, how things escalated, or when. What I do know is that there has been a haze of unease over the city for the past week. Last night, “police and thugs dressed in civilian clothes descended on a peaceful vigil at Wat Phnom last night, and set upon the roughly 20 protesters with slingshots, batons and electrics prods.” (Source: The Phnom Penh Post) A total of eleven were injured in the brawl and human right workers and journalists among the crowds were injured from marbles, some the size of golf balls and electric prods.