In Mourning

I’ve been struggling to find words to say all day. Even just speaking to my partner about what to eat or our plans for the evening has been a challenge. I feel truly lost for words. Today, members of the Supreme Court who were not elected by the people, chose to remove the right to bodily autonomy from half the humans in America. This decision was made despite 70% of Americans believing that the choice to have an abortion should be left to the individual.

This is the first step in a line of cases which the Supreme Court is poised to overturn which will strip even more rights away from its citizens. The main goal is not saving lives of unborn children; it is and always has been control over women, minority groups, and LGBTQIA people. The cases the court plans to re-examine including Griswold, Lawrence, and Obergefell. This means the right to access contraception and birth control could be revoked, as well as the right for gay people to get married, possibly to even be together as a couple. Freedoms will continue to be stripped from the citizens of this country, to uphold the power of a small group of white folks.

It is important to note that the reproductive rights of black and indigenous women have been under attack since this country was founded, so this is not a new occurrence for those groups. Additionally, trans men and non-binary people frequently face violence and hostility when seeking health care. The Handmaid’s Tale is often referenced by white women as a comparison of where our country is headed, but it is ignorant to cite a fictional book when oppressed communities have been stripped of reproductive rights for years. And now, there is no need to refer to a novel where a religious coup results in martial law; Roe was overturned under a democratic president, with a democratic majority in congress. It is our reality. And those democrats are as much to blame for their inaction. Joe Biden ran on a platform of reproductive rights for all, and yet today used this as an opportunity to push for re-election and ask for donations. Frankly, I’m sick of inaction, and I expect more from my elected officials.

If you are angry, good. If there is one thing in our constitution which I truly believe is still relevant, it is our right to fight for our place as equal citizens of this country. Today, the rights of everyone with a uterus have been removed. In months to come, it is highly likely that more basic human rights will be taken away by a few people in a room in DC. That’s fucked up. So go protest. Talk to the people in your life, particularly the men. Do they support you and whatever choices you make about your body? Would they be willing to drive you to another state to get you an abortion, if you needed one? If not, do not sleep with them. Do not talk to them about anything regarding your reproductive health. Do not tell them if you are pregnant. It is not worth it- anyone who does not actively support you and the decisions you want to make about your body could be a danger to you. Find a support system who is willing to take care of you, to even break the law to get you the care you need. If you are a man who wants to help the women and people with uteruses in your life, get a vasectomy. Listen to us. Do not downplay our sorrow- even if we are good at masking it, we are hurting desperately right now. Let us know you are there for us whatever we may need, whatever the future brings. And follow through on that promise. I mean this with the upmost sincerity. Is it severe? Yes. This decision and the legislation that will follow is even more severe. Do not comply. This government is not going to save you. Save yourself. Surround yourself with people who will look out for you in all circumstances.

I will end this with the closing statement from the few members of the Supreme Court who fought in defense of Roe: “With sorrow—for this Court, but more, for the many millions of American women who have today lost a fundamental constitutional protection—we dissent.”

Creative Drought

I want to start by saying I have in fact been doing many creative things over the past year and however long it’s been since I last wrote in this blog. I started producing burlesque shows in Denver, then the pandemic happened. I started baking and cooking a lot, I worked on some play scripts, I started writing poetry, and tried my hand at painting. So the drought I speak of isn’t to say that I haven’t stimulated myself artistically in the past year. I’ve tried many new things and pushed myself a lot, and I’m very proud of all the things I’ve created.

But it has been tough. In attempting to be creative, I’ve found myself often wondering why it matters. Why my art means anything at all in a world constantly shifting and crumbling. Particularly, I wonder if I’m wasting my time on my many different creative pursuits, when I should be focusing and honing a mere few. Would my time spent painting or writing poetry be better used writing plays or working on choreography? Is my piano playing a more practical ambition than perfecting my recipe for banana flambé french toast? Who’s to say?

The answer is simple enough, though it comes with an unfortunate footnote which all creative endeavors are shackled to. Anything which makes you happy and lights up your brain is worth spending time on. The problem, annoyingly, is always financial. It’s usually the remark creatives get when they first tell people of their pursuits. “But how are you going to make money?” The financial detriment can easily halt creatives in their tracks, which is unfortunate, because other interests rarely get treated this way. Attached to the monetary concerns is usually a question of skill: “Are you any good?” True, many people work very hard on their creative skills, but they may also do it simply because they enjoy it. If someone likes walking, it would be odd to inquire if they were good at it or how they were planning on profiting from it. Though, yes, money is an unfortunate necessity in this world, it is not the only thing with value.

I’m not sure if my philosophizing is helpful or just white noise, but I suppose it helps me create a bit of calm in my very busy brain. I like to do many different things. I’ve also been very sad and tired for the past year, and it takes much more energy to do the things that I love. But I still love them and I want to continue making things and sharing them with others. Though I’d love to earn fame and fortune for all of the creative nonsense I get up to, recognition is only a small fraction of the value creative work has as a whole. I know my work is worthwhile, even if I’m the only person in the world who enjoys it.

Copenhagen, February 2019

The door to my hotel room shut and I walked instinctively towards the window. Across the street, the gates of Tivoli looked smaller than I remembered them as a child. The rides and roller coasters poking up through the barren tree branches in the park didn’t appear as intimidating as I seemed to remember them as a 5 year old.

I unpacked a little bit, then decided I should head out and get some food before it got too chilly. Outside, the sun was already starting to set, even though it was only 4:30pm, and little flakes of snow had begun to fall. I made my way towards the walking streets, gloves hands shoved into my pockets, face half buried inside my scarf. I’d been to Denmark many times with my family, but it had always been during the summer. Freezing as it was, I couldn’t help but smile recognizing streets I’d walked down as a child, and restaurants I’d taken advantage of the 16 year drinking age in, feeling like such a grown up sipping my white wine.

I wandered all the way through the walking streets, down to the harbor. There were plenty of cute restaurants with their lights on, but they seemed a little too nice to be dining in alone. I’m not opposed to solitude. If I was, this entire weekend trip would be be a nightmare. I had just needed to leave the UK briefly to reset my visa, and knowing I’d be going somewhere alone, I picked Copenhagen as it was familiar. I thought it might be nice to revisit the places I remember vaguely from all the previous trips. But I didn’t anticipate how much more alone one feels when it’s cold. Cold is an understatement, it was fucking freezing. The snow flakes had dampened to a sleet, and the wind was whipping them hard onto my nose and cheeks (the only exposed skin I had). And though my body was begging me to just pick a damn restaurant and go inside, literally anywhere with walls and some warm food, I walked away from the harbor and back up the walking streets. It wasn’t until I was almost back at my hotel that I found the perfect dinner spot I didn’t realize I was waiting for: An almost deserted Chinese restaurant with harsh fluorescent lighting that could serve me a massive bowl of noodle soup. With a side of spring rolls. One Night In Bangkok played on the speakers, as I slurped from the oversized spoon. I’d posted a picture to my Instagram story earlier, of several of the iconic Copenhagen towers, silhouetted by the dark sky. It had a reply from my friend Ellen, who is from Denmark but lived in London. “Are you in Copenhagen?!” She asked. I replied that I was here through the weekend. “I literally fly in tomorrow, can we hang out tomorrow night?” She went back. My heart leapt. It was such a random coincidence, and it warmed me more than even the giant bowl of soup could. I think, though I do love traveling, I’ve grown to enjoy the people I can share a place with even more.

The next day I slept in, but still wanted to get out and see the city. Again, it took me ages to settle on a place to grab a bite to eat. I’d already walked to Rosenborg Castle and up to the top of the Round Tower before I found myself a veggie bagel at the cafe at the top of Illum’s shopping center.

The view from the top of the Round Tower

I made my way down to Nyhavn, past the beautiful colorful buildings to the water, where the opera house sits across the bay. All the way down to the Little Mermaid statue, then back past Amalienborg, the home of the Danish royal family. I’m not sure how many miles I’d gone, but my feet were very ready to take a break. I made my way back towards my hotel, intending on getting a bite to eat and warming up a little. But walking by the gates of Tivoli, I realized this might be my only afternoon to visit. I considered the moderately expensive entrance fee a gift to my younger self. I adored this place growing up; the rides, the beautifully decorated buildings and alleyways, the sweet little restaurants and the decadent soft serve vanilla ice cream (dipped in chocolate powder, of course). This time, draped in a thin layer of fake snow, it looked much smaller than I remembered it. It was almost deserted, with only a few people wandering through the gift shops and admiring the ornately painted structures. Here and there, elevated fire pits stood for people to warm their hands by. The park has a small population of peacocks, and they too were cuddling up by the fires. I found a mulled wine stand, so a steaming mug soon was also combatting the cold. There wasn’t much to do, other than wander around and take in the sights. There were lots of tiny lights everywhere, leftover from Christmas, and flock of sculpted swans, each with a tiny golden crown, floated on the lake. In the summer, the lanes and little parks would be filled with children screaming and playing, and the restaurants would be bustling with customers. There were only a few rides that were open now, including the fun house, which I took a wander through. It’s not quite the same experience without people to laugh with, riding down slides and running over moving tracks designed to trip you up. Nevertheless, I clambered over enough rope ladders to make it worth my while.

Several hours later, I was walking through the meat packing district, an area I’d never been in before, following the address Ellen had said to meet her at. The streets fluctuated between “sketchy” and “trendy”, sometimes a little of both. After about a 20 minute walk, I found the place. A sign outside the door said “Come in for the worst g&t some guy on Yelp has ever had!” Wandering the crowd of what seemed to be entirely locals, I found Ellen and her friend Benedicte, who I’d met one once London. It was 2 for 1 g&t’s, so we took full advantage of that (they weren’t as bad as the guy on Yelp seemed to think, just quite strong, which I’ve never seen as a negative). We tucked ourselves away in a corner and caught up, soon filling our small, wobbly table with empty glasses. Benedicte worked at a little Italian restaurant close by Tivoli, so we walked back in that direction, stopping by my hotel room to drink a bottle of wine, eat some chips, and have a little dance party.

The restaurant was still open, so we sat at tables outside, drinking Aperol Spritzes in the freezing cold. Benedicte told us about when she’d served Mads Mikkelsen and the crown prince of Denmark in the restaurant one night. We shared stories and sipped our freezing cold but delicious drinks, laughing so hard I worried we might be disrupting the actual customers. Eventually, as the tables inside cleared, we moved in and warmed up, before setting off on another adventure. They took me to Floss, a bar with a heavily graffitied front, thick with customers and cigarette smoke. We found some decaying couches downstairs and chatted with strangers and watched people play pool. Then we braved the cold once more and endured a painfully long line to get into a nightclub, where we danced in projected lights making patterns in the floor, sang along to the music in brash, out of tune voices, and snuck out into the roped off smoking area outside when it got too hot indoors. It’s all a blur. We left around 4am, when I discovered to my delight it was only a 10 minute walk back to my hotel. Once home, I chugged 3 glasses of water, then fell asleep until noon.

I love revisiting places I went when I was younger. I’m an awfully nostalgic person, and I find an odd pleasure in the combined delight in familiarity, and a yearning for past or distant happiness. Yet the people I’ve met as I’ve gotten older, the ones who’ve shown me new sides to the places I thought I knew well, they give me things to love about the places of my childhood which I never would have thought I’d be lucky enough to find. Traveling alone can be a very rewarding and interesting experience, but in this instance, I was so grateful for the companionship, the company, and the new nostalgia to discover the next time I visit.

Los Angeles, March 2019

I’m currently sat at a cake shop on Ventura Boulevard looking like a displaced piece of 80s pop trash. This morning, I decided to put on a long black Stevie Nicks style skirt, an oversize denim jacket with purple triangle parches adorning the sleeves, and a pair of white kitten heeled boots with pastel flowers around the ankles. It’s a great outfit, but one becomes more self conscious about their bold fashion choices when they’re over an hour early to a dinner date and have to wander around strip malls full of closed shops to kill time. Also these shoes are not the most comfy, and I needed to sit down. Thank goodness this cake shop was open. Now I can at least chill out for a moment while I wonder how much judgement I’m earning from the two guys working here who were probably hoping to close early before I walked in. One of them is slowly sweeping the floor and wiping down tables. Oh well, I have at least 28 more minutes until they can legally kick me out. I’ve ordered a tea and a massive coconut macaroon. Even though I had ice cream an hour ago. It was really good too, basically a slice of berry pie mashed up in vanilla ice cream. And then I’ll be getting sushi soon as well. It seems I’m very determined to avoid the stereotype that everyone in LA is skinny, at least based on today’s eating habits.

I’m staying with my friend Keana, who was my housemate in college but lives out here now. I think the two of us make each other more indulgent than we might be otherwise. I recall one Easter Sunday, when we slept in late, then drove to Whole Foods and loaded our baskets with macaroons, cupcakes, avocado oil potato chips, fresh berries, and almond milk iced coffee. When we got home, we laid out a blanket in the front lawn and lounged in our swimsuits, soaking up the sun and eating our treats. I’m not religious, but I like to think Jesus would have approved. I love seeing her. We pick up where we left off, and our conversation is always comfortable and flowing. We shower each other in affection and compliments, laugh at each other’s dumb jokes, and sing along loudly to songs in the car. It’s been four years since she moved out here, but we’ve still managed to see each other quite a bit, even with the distance. I think that’s the best anyone can do, but we’re lucky that it’s been an easy friendship, even through all the time apart.

This sushi place I’m going for dinner, Katsu-Ya, I’ve been to once before, with the same people I’m meeting this time. It’s a man I met at a writing retreat in Aspen, Sean, and his wife. When I met him, I was a mere freshman in college, having just been accepted to the acting BFA program. I was the only person under 30 in our little writing class, and was intimidated to say the least. But I got chatting with him and found out that he had graduated from the same acting program which I was about to start, and so had his wife. They live in LA now, where he works as a writer and she leads a belly dancing troupe. We’ve stayed in touch since then, them coming out to stay with my family, me visiting them in LA, I even visited him on a film set in Prague one lush weekend last summer. During my senior year spring break, I stayed with them in LA for a few days, and we went to this restaurant. I had never tried raw fish sushi before, having been a vegetarian most of my life, but wanted to be polite and give everything a try. It was one of the most amazing meals I’ve ever had. Probably aided by an excess of wine, but nevertheless.

I’ve left the coffee shop. I’m now sat on the side of a fountain outside of a Starbucks. I finished the macaroon and my tea, and have purchased a kombucha, because I felt bad wandering around CVS for 10 minutes and not buying anything. Not that they’re desperately in need of the cash, I’m just awkward. It’s very a very spicy and gingery kombucha. The fountain is splashing lightly, so a little mist is getting on my notebook as I’m writing this. It’s actually quite cold out tonight. It’s been a bit of a chilly trip to LA this time around. It rained for a while yesterday, and earlier today, sitting out on the beach was a tad chilly. It was still lovely though. The wind blew ocean air all around us, and the sun snuck in past the clouds every so often to warm us up a bit.

This whole past hour, I’ve had Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty stuck in my head. Probably because being on Ventura Blvd made a connection to whatever part of my brain keeps a very good archive of song lyrics:

All the vampires, walkin’ through the valley

Move west down Ventura Boulevard

And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows

And the good girls are home with broken hearts.

It’s probably time for me to head to dinner. I’m still about 15 minutes early, but at least I can go sit inside and wait. I’ve chugged this kombucha, which has left my mouth burning, but I feel like a real local ingesting something expensive, organic, and supposedly good for gut health. I don’t know if I’m the best at killing time, particularly when my phone is dying and I need to save battery so I can get an Uber back down to Keana’s this evening. But this has been good. I need to take more time to write like this, even if it’s rather meandering and pointless. I like to think our teacher at the writing retreat back in 2013 would be a bit proud of me for trying. Who knows.

Gurl Bi

I came out to my diary as “bi-curious” in the spring of 2014. I’d always thought women were attractive, but for the first time I actually was crushing on a girl. For me, that was a game changer. I’d convinced myself that sexual attraction didn’t have the same weight as romantic attraction. Really, being merely attracted to women would be enough to for me to call myself “bisexual”. But at that point, I’d been through two years of college in which any girl who referred to herself as bi was slut shamed by both men and women, and was assumed to only be sharing this information to become more attractive to men. The idea that bi girls are really just straight girls that are open to threesomes is a depressing idea that continues the narrative that women are only on earth for the pleasure of men (It doesn’t help that bi men are assumed to be denying their full gayness, so in both bi scenarios, it’s assumed that everyone’s just trying to get with men). It also makes women who are attracted to both men and women feel extremely self conscious about sharing their sexuality with others.

I had a scattered coming out, from the autumn of 2015. By then I’d established that the bicuriosity was in fact a very steady state of bisexuality, but I was afraid to tell people. What I really feared was someone telling me it was just a phase, and not taking me seriously. So I waited, thinking that I only needed to tell people if I got into a relationship with a woman. Because otherwise, it was irrelevant information, right? Wrong. Even if you’re bi and you’re in a heterosexual relationship, you’re still bi. In a gay relationship? Still bi! That sexuality is still part of your identity, even if you’re married, or in no relationship at all. And I realized that, after about a year of trying to pretend it was just a small, hideable part of who I was. I told my closest friends. I told my family. My dad’s response made me cry, because of how sweet it was. He told me he’d read some articles to understand a bit more about bisexuality, and it made perfect sense to him, and he loved me very much. And that’s all I ever needed to hear. I never came out on social media, not explicitly anyway. There was a time where I thought I would, but after several years of going to Pride, obsessing over drag queens, and lots of doing theatre, I suppose I assumed people could take a hint. I tell people who I meet, when it is relevant or if it arises. I no longer fear sharing it. It is a part of who I am, and I want the people I care about to know that part of me too.

Being bi is difficult. Being anywhere on the LGBTQIA spectrum is hard, but let’s just focus on the bi experience for a bit. I’ve dated primarily men. That’s not to say I’m more interested in men than women, I’ve just had a vast quantity more opportunities to date in the hetero department. In my late college years in Colorado, and even in London, the queer scene is very much catered to the gay male. The big clubs you go to are never filled with stunning Ruby Rose lookalikes, but gay men of all shapes and sizes, and occasionally their heterosexual girl friends. The queer club nights I’m used to attending are filled with people who have no interest in me sexually, so it is a rather limited dating scene. There aren’t many club spaces aimed at women in Colorado or in London. There’s a few, but they’re not usually the clubs that the entire friend group wants to go to on a Saturday night, nor would I want to go alone. So it wasn’t until fairly recently that I was introduced to these types of spaces. About a year ago, I went to an event called Aphrodykie with a few girl friends of mine. It’s a club night which is put on every few months, aimed at lesbian women. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The girl to guy ratio was 8-1, maybe more. Everyone was dancing like no one was watching, but still being respectful of other people’s space. The tunes were completely lit, and so very queer. I was surrounded by women who were also interested in women. And that was a sensation I’d never felt before. It was a bit intimidating. But I did enjoy it.

It’s a little difficult for me to gauge women, in a romantic sense, as I’m already quite friendly, flirtatious and cuddly with my platonic girlfriends. And many women are as well. So I worry that trying those same methods on a female crush will simply result in a close friendship, and my actual feelings won’t be translated through my actions. I definitely am not a master of the flirting game, for either teams, but I can read men better. Which is why I have much more dating experience on that side. Not that I’m opposed to that. I love men. A lot of them are quite great. But I’ve also been hurt by many of them. By their ignorance, their lack of empathy, their desire for something better than me, and their nonchalance at my pain. I suppose good and bad will both come in any type of relationship, but sometimes I think I would be so happy with a relationship where I could communicate as clearly and express myself as freely as I can with so many of my female friends.

Threesome requests. Now, this topic must be addressed. There is many a young, hopeful, and depressingly ignorant and unsympathetic young man who has requested a bisexual girl for a threesome. I’ve had several. I’ve also seen many sexual implications or jokes made by men when I exchange flirty banter with another female, even if it’s just as friends. It’s difficult, when the porn industry puts into young men’s heads that bisexual women must also be into group sex, specifically that with another girl. It’s a fantasy for many men, and encountering a woman who’s interested in both sexes might seem like an unmissable opportunity to get something they’ve always wanted. But boys, stop making it about you. There is a very very strong chance she is not currently pondering which of her hot friends to call and invite to your house. When girls imagine intimate time with another woman, it may involve some sex. But it also might include eating pasta while binge watching Sherlock, then talking about our feelings for an hour while cuddling, then falling asleep to the sweet sounds of Norah Jones (that’s what I envision anyway, but don’t let me speak for the masses). And that vision most likely does not include you, valiantly ticking “have a threesome with two girls because no homo” off your bucket list. It’s unfortunate that men have been taught by society that they have a right to expect sexual favors from a woman, simply because of her sexual orientation. So boys, cut that shit out.

London Pride is a few days away, and I plan on celebrating with some close friends, wearing something obnoxious and colorful, and dancing for at least 90% of the day. I’ve been to quite a few Prides now, most of them being in London. It’s always an amazing party, usually resulting in a bad sunburn and a raging hangover, but plenty of great memories and fabulous photos. It’s a different experience wherever in the world you celebrate it. I love Pride, and I love what it means to our entire community. We wear what we want and dance and smile and feel the joy that happens when we are our most authentic selves. It’s about more than that though. True, we are out here dressed in our most gag-worthy attire, feeling like absolute queens. But Pride is also a time to remember what LGBTQIA people all over the world have fought against in the past, and the rights we are still fighting for today. We can celebrate, sure, but we also must keep fighting against the prejudices that still exist, some even within the queer community itself. Be kind, be understanding, and don’t assume someone’s story based on what they look like, how passable they are, or what you think they believe. Everyone’s story deserves to be heard. Though I must say, people are often more inclined to listen when that story is presented in every color of the rainbow (and backed by Whitney Houston’s ‘So Emotional.’)

Well, I’m out. Bi.

Russell Square

I’ve fallen behind on these. Life just got ahold of me the last two weeks, and I haven’t written. If you’re upset, I’m very sorry.

I can’t say that I have anything particularly great to say right now. But I felt I should check in, scribble something down. I do have several stories which I’ve been working on a bit, they’re just not finished.

So here we are. It’s a lush Thursday afternoon, and I’m sat on a bench in Russell Square eating some rice and biryani from a market nearby. It’s a tad spicy, but the guy who sold it to me said I should try a bit of the spicy sauce because it’s very good. He’s not wrong, but my mouth is on fire. The sun is so bright and heavy, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. This is the summer day that Londoners we’re waiting for. It’s been a lot of humidity, a lot of heat, spurts of rain, but this is the first day of beautiful unrestricted sunshine we’ve had in a while. People are lying in every spot of available grass. Several people blow clouds of vape smoke into the soft breeze. Ah, heavenly.

This is a beautiful park, with massive trees stretching their branches wide over the plots of perfect grass below. In the center is a bubbling fountain, encircled by benches and small hedges. A tree tunnel curves over one of the sidewalks, and an Italian cafe pours delicious smells into the air.

That cafe was where I had breakfast with my parents for the last time before the start of my MA. They flew home to Colorado that afternoon, but we wanted one more little hangout beforehand. I got a cappuccino and a little almond pastry. We chatted about mundane things. Then they walked me down the road, I gave them both a hug and said goodbye. It wasn’t particularly heavy, I saw them a few months later for Christmas. But it still was a big moment. Moving to the other side of the world is a massive step to take as a 22 year old, especially when you don’t know anyone there. I don’t think the weight of that step ever resonated with me as much as it should have. It was hard sometimes, but then I’d walk through another park, have another pint with new friends, see the lights glittering on the river, and those worries were suddenly so small.

That was almost two years ago. Since then I’ve spent a large amount of time in this area of London, going to classes, going to the pub, wandering around the British museum, falling asleep in the library, and rehearsing shows which weren’t all great, but were occasionally legendary.

My time spent in London has been some of the busiest of my life. Not all of it has been school. I’ve traveled to other cities and countries, ate at amazing restaurants, walked the south bank a hundred times over, blasted 80’s pop tunes into my ears for many a tube ride, and dragged my friends out dancing more times than I can count. It was so full of life, memories, and days which at the time I said I would never forget. Now they’re a blur of photos on my Instagram, but sometimes those moments slip back into my mind and make me smile.

On top of all these things that I did, there’s an equally long list of things I didn’t do. Places I didn’t visit, bars I never made it to, people I failed to message back, shows I didn’t have time to see and projects that didn’t hold my attention long enough to get the creative momentum they deserved. And I could beat myself up about that. But I won’t, because I am proud of the things I did accomplish, and am so happy with the memories I did make.

This may just be a drawn out excuse for why I haven’t written in two weeks. I shall try to do better. But when life happens, I make time for the things that I deem deserve my time, in that moment. In this case, my writing had to be put on hold so I could direct, act, hike with my mom, and spent time with people who I care about. Maybe one day I’ll get better at balancing it all.

Anyway. After writing this, I fell asleep for an hour on the grass, and got a rather bad sunburn. So that can be my punishment for being negligent of my blog. Hope we’re even now.

25 Thoughts Upon Turning 25

My birthday was several days ago, and I have yet to receive all the answers to life’s greatest questions from the universe. Maybe they got lost in the mail.

Nah, I never expected to know everything by the age of 25. Or possibly ever. Instead, my head is filled with questions, worries, and thoughts that sometimes make me feel more naive than I did when I was 12. It’s not all bad thoughts. Some are just small ponderings. But here are 25 of them, that are unique to me and may or may not resonate with you, but why not just do me the birthday curtesy of giving them a read.

1. “I wonder if all the years of bad flossing when I was younger is going to limit my life span.” Hm. I guess we’ll see. Trying to do better now though.

2. “I scare super easily for someone with three college degrees.” Maybe I should work on that one. But hey, if zombies ever become a reality, I know I will have the motivation to run very fast.

3. “What the hell am I doing?” This applies to many aspects of my life. I think the answer is and will likely remain: “Who the hell knows?”

4. “How do I know that I’m making the right choices?” Well, you don’t, really. Unless you’re committing tax fraud. But generally, I suppose you’ll never know until 20 years after you’ve made that choice. And at that point, it’s too late to go back, so you might as well keep going. Or have a midlife crisis and buy a Ferrari.

5. “I want to see so much more of the world.” This I think will be a constant thought. I’m writing this post from Spain, and this trip is only making me more eager to see new places.

6. “I feel like a failure because I don’t have a plan.” I don’t know what my next year looks like. Or my next 5 years. I have goals, but I have so many, and they all lead me to different places, and I don’t know which to pick first or which to focus on the most.

7. “Is there something wrong with me?” I know there isn’t. I know I’m beautiful and smart and have lots to offer, but even so, I am the one common factor with all my failed relationships. Not that I think that pretending to be someone I’m not to gain affection would make me happy. But patience wears thin. Patience with others and with myself. And sometimes I just really wish I had someone to shower with affection without feeling like I’m a burden to them.

8. “Could I cope with being single forever?” Because that’s starting to look like a real possibility. I realize this is me being a negative Nancy. But then, maybe it’s not so bad. I still have some feisty cougar years to look foreword to, and then there’ll be no one to stop be from living in a bright pink house next to a doughnut shop with a brood of corgis when I’m 80.

9. “Would I be happier if I closed myself off more?” I get hurt a lot, because I keep my heart really open. I let people in, and I care about people very deeply. So when they turn on me, ignore me, reject me, or make me feel small, I feel it with a greater weight. And maybe if I stayed more closed, if I didn’t let as many people in, that wouldn’t happen as much. I don’t know if I would be happier. But I know my heart would hurt a lot less.

10. “I still don’t know if I want kids or not.” Eh, who knows. I’ll figure it out eventually.

11. “I owe so much happiness to my friends and family.” This is just a fact, I’m surrounded by the most incredible bunch of humans. They have built me and supported me, and I owe them more than I could possibly say.

12. “The mountains were a wonderful place to grow up.” I’m so grateful to have had an outdoorsy, active childhood. And I appreciate a good view so much more because of it.

13. “When I was younger, I didn’t think that my family dynamics would change over time.” It’s easy to stay stuck in a little bubble of childhood happiness. But over the years I’ve seen us grow together and apart in ways I never would have considered possible. But we still hang in there. Because families do.

14. “I wonder if I’ll ever open a bakery…” That was a career option for me, back when I was in high school. Come back to me when I’m 50, maybe I’ll have made it happen.

15. “Going to school abroad was the best decision I’ve ever made.” Seriously. Nothing has contributed more to my growth, my wisdom, my street smarts, or my confidence.

16. “Lol ok what now?” Seriously. I miss school for the reason that we got told what to do, and how to succeed. Now I have no one pointing me in the direction of certain success, and I’m so scared to make the wrong choices.

17. “Where should I go now?” This is mostly a physical reference. Visas are fun things which make it hard for me to make a career in England, and I’m not really sure if where in the US I should head, or if I should even commit to one place just yet. Maybe I’ll just move to Nebraska. Yeah, that’s it.

18. “Is it always going to be like this?” (Negative) I’m sure I will find more direction soon, or at least find the motivation to create that direction confidently for myself. But it’s so easy to fear the potential of stagnant mediocrity, and the possibility of remaining a poor, floundering, artistic failure forever.

19. “Is it always going to be like this?” (Positive) Will my friends and I stay close? Will I be able to keep traveling? Will I still be able to drink 4 tequila shots in one night, stay up until 3am, and wake up without a hangover when I’m 40? Who’s to say, but I sure hope so.

20. “There is a strong possibility that I own too many turtlenecks for my age.” Really, I own upwards of 15. I feel having like any more than 10 should be reserved for moms who drink Chardonnay with their friends at lunch. But hey, they look great with my short hair.

21. “I’m happiest when I’m dancing.” I’ve always felt this way, and I hope dancing remains the thing that always makes me smile, even in years to come. I have a feeling it could come in handy during my cougar years…

22. “My legs are my favorite body part.” Always have been. Hopefully always will be.

23. “I’m doing great.” Considering everything, my life is pretty damn spectacular.

24. “I wonder if I’ll still have this blog in a few years time.” I’d like to, I really would. Unless someone decides to pay me for my writing, then so long WordPress!

25. “I’m a fucking stellar human being.” I’m so proud of what I’ve accomplished, and I know I’m going to do amazing things in the future. And I’ll stay so humble throughout all of it, I’m sure. Kidding, I’ll remain a cocky asshole, but only where I’ve earned the right to be one.

Well that’s it. 25 little considerations from a freshly turned 25 year old. I definitely don’t have all the answers, but I do have a lot of questions. And a lot of hope. And a lot of excitement for the future.

And a lot of room in my stomach for birthday cake.

Ravello

I’m lying on a lounge chair, in a plot of bright green grass. In front of me, a stone ledge drops down to another layer of this tiered garden, so nothing except for a minimal wooden fence is obstructing my view of the breathtaking cliffs and crystal blue sea of the Amalfi Coast. Tall rocky mountains rise up sharply from the shore, extending to my left until they are lost in the low hanging clouds. They are converted in green vegetation, with large sections of terraced land where rows of lemon trees grow abundantly. It’s harvest season, so large strips which were covered in black netting several days ago are now exposed so the farmers can pick the ripe yellow fruit. The towns of Minori and Majori lie below me, their little houses nestled into the cliff sides and right up to the beach. Further in the distance, the edge of Italy stretches south, until it can’t be made out anymore.

From the balcony of our hotel room, the view is just as incredible. In the morning, it’s hazy with condensation in the air. Thick clouds wind their way in from the ocean and through the sharp valleys of the land. Little boats bob near the harbors in clumps. The clouds are so thick that you can’t see the horizon. Some mornings, clouds float so close that you can reach out and touch them. Then within a few hours, they’ve dispersed and you can see clearly again.

We arrived to Ravello on Thursday afternoon, following a long and windy car ride up from Naples. The roads are steep and skinny, barely wide enough for two small cars. I’ve driven steep dirt roads on the sides of cliffs getting to trailheads in Colorado, but those are four lane highways compared to this. After a mild amount of motion sickness, we arrived at our hotel.

Ravello is a small town, with the central area mostly comprised of walking streets. There is a square and an ancient church, the villa of a nobleman who once hosted Wagner, and countless limoncello vendors and pottery stores. A bit after arriving, we were about to leave the hotel to find an ATM, and the concierge called after us to take an umbrella. I was confused, as it was bright and sunny outside the last time I checked. As if on cue, rain began pouring from the sky outside. My mom and I huddled under the umbrella as we made our way down the steep cobblestone steps. People stood under awnings, waiting out the storm. We wandered down a few streets, but after 10 minutes, we decided the cash point could wait until later.

That evening as the rain persisted, we were thankfully having dinner at the hotel, and didn’t have to walk far. We ordered a few courses, but nothing too crazy or filling. After leaving us with some breadsticks, the waiter then brought a selection of appetizers from the kitchen. This included a piece of veggie sushi, a miniature haddock bun, a stuffed tomato, an airy, savory cake topped with foam made of cheese, and a small chip with dots of sauce on it which tasted like a crispy pizza. And then there was more bread. Then our two courses were served, mine a salad of local vegetables and a lemon ravioli, my mom’s a noodle soup and a fillet of scorpion fish. We were absolutely stuffed afterwards, and replied the typical “oh no I couldn’t possibly” in regards to the dessert menu. Several moments later, a cart was brought next to our table, and the waiter unloaded a lemon cake, several chocolate biscuits, a selection of chocolates, and two frosted lemon creme puffs. Welcome to Italy, you say you’re full, and they’ll ignore you.

On the second day, we hiked from Ravello all the way down to the town of Amalfi. It took about 5 hours. A woman named Maria was our guide, and told us all about the history of the towns, the buildings, and the culture. The towns are laced together by stone walkways and steep stairways. Children practice dance routines in small passages, people walk up and down on their way to the store or the cafe, and cats slip between iron fences, searching for a snack. As we reached an overlook above Amalfi, she waved over across the valley to a man who was on a ladder in the middle of a patch of lemon trees. It was her dad, she explained. “He’s out taking down the netting over the trees, so they can harvest them. It’s mostly just him, because my mom doesn’t like to help with the trees.” She said she left home to go to school, and was away for a while, but has now come back and lived here for the last few years. She explained it quite poetically: “You have to go to the place where your heart is at home. No matter how far away you go or what you want to see, your home will always know you best.”

We hiked down into the valley, which had a unique climate, close to a tropical rainforest. The mountains and trees shield the area from wind and weather, and water is constantly seeping in from the springs high above. The area is home to a rare bulb plant from the age of dinosaurs, and some extremely unique wildlife flourish in the ecosystem it fosters. My personal favorite were these ladybugs with dark iridescent wings, like gemstones.

Amalfi is the tourist hub of the coast. Tour busses bring in throngs of travelers every day, to walk the streets, buy souvenirs, and visit the cathedral. The streets are too small to accommodate the crowds, and it’s sometimes difficult to get where you want to go. Thankfully, Maria knew several side streets which she snuck us down, passages easily looked over by foreign eyes. We came back to Amalfi for dinner that night, and our table overlooked the harbor. The sky slowly turned pink, then darkened, and all the lights on the hill turned on one by one, until it looked like a pile of stars. The view goes very well with a sweet wine, I’d recommend Privilegio dei Feudi di San Gregorio, 2016.

Four days isn’t long enough to visit all the towns, soak up all the sunshine you wanted (particularly with the daily afternoon rainstorms we were getting), or drink as many Aperol spritzes as you intended. It’s the kind of place you could visit over and over again, and create a tradition of. The focus isn’t seeing the big attractions, visiting museums, or taking pictures in front of important monuments. The best way to see the Amalfi Coast is just to be in it, to spend a few days at that pace of life, to explore it with an open heart. There are no to-go coffee cups or fast food restaurants. If you need a bite to eat or a bit of caffeine, you sit and enjoy it. You eat late, and you eat everything they serve to you (even if there are 10 extra things you did not ask for). You soak in the richness of the culture, the quaintness of these sweet towns, and the light scent of lemon that lingers in the trees.

And when the view unfolds below you, you take a moment to sit in silence and take it in. You’ve seen the pictures on Instagram I’m sure, but it’s no understatement to say that it takes your breath away. Even when you’ve looked out on it countless times over the course of a few days, it still is just as thrilling. It makes you feel just as small. And always, endlessly grateful.

50 First Swipes

I met him outside the CU campus science museum. It was 7:45 in the morning. I don’t know why I agreed to this. I had rehearsal every night that week, so this was the only bit of spare time I had to go on a date: Friday before my 9:30 class. He suggested it, and I somehow decided that a stranger I had been talking to for 3 days on Coffee Meets Bagel was worth sacrificing an extra hour of sleep to meet.

He was quite nice. We grabbed a coffee, then went for a really long walk around campus. We ended up holding hands by the end. We agreed to meet up the following week, in the short break I had between my last Tuesday class and rehearsal. We got a drink from a nearby bar. He said he was reading Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari, a book my mom had just recommended to me days before (spooky). We kissed on the steps of the theatre building, and I had to run inside so I wouldn’t be late to my fight call.

It didn’t work out. For many reasons. He fell really hard. He sent me a massive text far more intimate than any I’d ever received. He said “I can’t wait for you to open yourself up to me.” He said that I was a goddess, and he’d put me on a pedestal in his mind. I told him I was extremely uncomfortable and I didn’t want to talk to him again. Might be a bit harsh. We did get along, we had some good conversations, but a few things didn’t feel quite right, and that message was where I drew the line. I didn’t want to be on a pedestal. I didn’t want to feel pressure to open myself up to someone. I just wanted it to happen, naturally.

I’ve been single for 6 and a half years now, and I drop in and out of dating apps. I’m not always in a state of seeking out a potential mate (#animalplanet), as I’m often too busy to think too much about it. Still, I know the symptoms of loneliness extremely well. I’m fortunate to have many wonderful friends who I can go out with, confide in, or rely on for distraction, making it easy to not feel as though something is missing. But the loneliness still comes, usually in waves. Most often it’s fleeting and goes away after a fun night of dancing or with the purchase of a new Fenti highlighter. But when it lingers… There’s an app for that.

Dating apps aren’t all winners. Nah, I take that back. All dating apps have the potential to be winners, but it is heavily dependent on wether or not you are meeting the 6% of people on this app who are 1) Not catfish, 2) Interested in dating and not just a picture of your boobs, 3) Not in a relationship already, 4) Actually going to message you back, 5) Willing to go on a date with you, 6) Easygoing and friendly on said date and 6) Not going on this date simply to lure you into their home, skin you alive, and hang you above their fireplace. It’s a risk. Even if everything in the situation is completely safe and good, there still is the risk that you won’t jive with this person. Then you’ve gone and wasted a perfectly good evening and 20 quid on cocktails that didn’t even get you laid. What if the next time isn’t successful either? Or the time after that? It’s easy to get disheartened and call it quits, when you’re going through all the stress and strain of dating with none of the rewards. The messaging alone can be enough to throw in the towel. The most frequent message is “Hey”, followed by “what’s up?”, neither of which usually lead to a deep or compelling conversation. Sometimes it progresses from that, but doesn’t always end in someone asking the other person out. Often, it’s just another rabbit hole of misogyny you didn’t know you were falling down until it’s too late. See below.

I had an odd encounter a few weeks back. I was chatting with this guy; let’s just call him James. James messages me something about one of my photos, which was taken in Oxford, saying “You’re at my school!” I made some clever reply about him needing to avoid all the basics taking instagram photos on his campus. He responded, and we had a little chat going. He was nice, asked a lot of questions, made some jokes. Important detail: he was really hot. Like, hot to the point where I get skeptical. Muscular, white teeth, well built, cast-able as a frat guy in a film. Usually these are the sorts of guys who’ll message “you up?” in the wee hours of the morning, so I was a bit taken aback by this extended conversation we had going. Now this isn’t a self criticism, but in my experience, guys who fit the social media standard of “ideal male attractiveness” go for women who could be classified under “ideal female attractiveness”. Basically- not me. This isn’t a self criticism, just an acknowledgment that I have short hair, no thigh gap, and dress like a mom 80% of the time (but, like, a cool mom). Now, this is a deeper conversation, because beauty is a construct and every type of body and style is beautiful, and I know that I’m hot as fuck HOWEVER based on my experience, men who present themselves in a certain way, who try to fit this standard of attractiveness, are not interested in anything more than sex, particularly from me. And that’s fine, live your best life. So when our dear friend James messaged me asking if I had any free time this week, I was surprised. Also flattered, excited, and hopeful. I told him when I was free… then didn’t hear back for 2 days.

When he finally responded, he said “I was going to see if you wanted a drink, but my schedule got busy the rest of this week, and I’m actually not going to have much free time for the rest of the month, but I’m open to other things though.” ….. Hm. I responded with: “Other things? That could cover a whole number of areas” to which he replied, “Just less time consuming stuff is what I meant.” ALRIGHT LOOK HERE CHAMP (actually here’s a list of things because I need to break this shit down): 1) I don’t know about you, but I can down a pint in like 15 minutes. Getting a drink doesn’t take that long. 2) If you’re referring to something sexual as what you might have time for… I’m not interested if it’s only going to take as long as it takes to get a drink. You’re implying that sex/something intimate will take less time than consuming a beverage, and somehow that’s meant to entice me? In whatever idea of sex you have in your head, you seem to have no interest in taking time to please me, clearly don’t have time to get to know me, and yet still don’t have the balls to tell me that directly. Hmm. 3) If I were to be down to have hookup with you, I still would want to meet you in a public place or something first, so a drink would probably still happen. Most girls won’t just come over to your place having never met you. Safety > that D. 4) I have no issue with you not wanting anything serious. That’s fine. Just be straight with me, dude. Tell me what you want. Don’t vaguely skirt around the situation, or else I might do something crazy like assume that you can only last 2 minutes, then post that assumption on the internet… oops. Anywho, I responded, “Less time consuming… soo shots instead of drinks?” and he deleted me. Nice work James, you’re a true ladykiller.

Once you actually get to a date, the hard work is pretty much over. You don’t have to play mind games and overthink messages, you just have to get to know someone, and hope you have a moderately ok evening. They may not all be great nights out. You probably won’t hit the bullseye on your first attempt. Do the rewards come? Maybe. I’m not totally sure, as I’m still single over here. But I’ve had some wonderful dates. I’ve met some great people. Some of them I kept seeing for a while. Others it was just one time. But there are some gems out there. It just takes one person, someone funny and sweet, maybe a little nervous and awkward, to remind you that there are people out there who are just looking for someone to spend time with. Someone that makes them smile. Someone who holds a mirror up to your own situation, and makes you feel a bit less alone. And you owe it to each other to try. To spend an hour in the company of a stranger, without judging them or yourself, and see if you feel a spark. If not, call it a night, split the bill, and get yourself a McDonalds on the way home.

If I can close on anything, if you’re living the single millennial nightmare, you’re not alone. It’s tough and dating apps don’t always offer the immediate relief which you deserve. But be patient. There are people out there who are just looking to make a connection. Give a few people a chance. If it doesn’t work, give yourself a break. Don’t let Auntie Beth’s constant questioning about your dating life pressure you into making hasty decisions or judging yourself. You’re allowed to be single. You’re allowed to take your time. There’s nothing wrong with you for not having settled into a stable relationship yet, even if all your friends are married. So let yourself be selfish, and date people who make you feel good. Make time for the one’s who give you butterflies, who pop into your mind when listening to certain songs, and are just as interested in you as you are in them. And if all that fails, remember that a doughnut, a cup of tea, and your favorite book will never swipe left on you.

Proud Mary, Proud Daughter

My mom is an extraordinary woman. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized this more and more (after getting through the “ugh, mom, you’re so embarrassing!” phase). Once I got to college, any friend who had met my mom would pour praise of her onto me, telling me how cool and classy she was, how she was like a second mom to them, and how she could probably out dance us all if we brought her to the club. And they’re right. She’s incredible.

I don’t think writing can properly describe her in full. She simply must be beheld to be understood. But here’s a little list of things that one should know about her.

1. Her name is Diane Anthony Canepa. Formerly Diane Marie Canepa, then Diane Canepa Olson (many years after marrying my dad, she gave in after people kept changing her name automatically on documents and reservations), then to Diane Anthony Canepa (this wasn’t because of a split with my dad, she just wanted her original last name back. She also changed her middle name to her dad’s name).

2. She has 10 siblings who were all tap dancers. They would go on tour around the midwest, with full costumes and everything. They still do a dance at every family function (yes, Canepa weddings are absolutely insane).

3. She drinks exclusively champagne. Really dry, very bubbly is her preference, but she’ll endure a glass of prosecco if she has to.

4. She has way more game than I will ever have. We went to an Avalanche hockey charity event, and she was chatting up all the players, got a few phone numbers, and has basically invited the entire team to come skiing in Breckenridge and stay at our house. I can laugh along, but won’t even attempt small talk with any of those guys. Their asses are so intimidatingly tight, it’s impossible to not feel like a complete potato in their presence.

5. There is one specific story I tell people when they ask me to tell them about my mom. A story which I think fully embodies the kind of woman she is, the energy she creates, and why she will always be the most fun person I know. Here’s the story:

My mom and I were in Chicago visiting some family in the winter of 2015. This was the first time I was in Chicago being of legal drinking age, so naturally, we got a group together to hit up some bars. The group was: my aunt Sue, my cousin Kate, my mom’s longtime friend Kelly, my mom and I. We went to this really cool bar called …- . Yes, that is the name, though Three Dots and a Dash will also work. It’s hid away in an alley with a small neon sign marking it. Downstairs, it’s a tiki style bar which mixes drinks three times stronger than anything you’ve ever tasted. We all got a drink, my mom got a glass of champagne, and we hung out there for a few hours just talking and laughing. We got another round of drinks somewhere in there, so we were quite enjoying ourselves by the time we stumbled back out onto the street.

Not wanting to call it a night, we scrambled around on our phones until someone found a place called Bub City just around the corner. We walked in… let me paint the picture. It’s a country karaoke bar. There’s a giant American flag constructed of red, white and blue painted beer bottles behind the bar. The room is pretty full, lots of people wearing denim. It was easy to forget one was in central Chicago, and not a highway side bar somewhere in Wyoming. A live band is playing, with whom you can get up and belt out your favorite Whitesnake power ballad (thankfully for those listening, they’ll just cut your mic and sing over you if you can’t hold a tune). We found a high top table in the back, next to a table of gents all old enough to be my dad. My aunt Sue got another round of drinks (and this isn’t a place classy enough to stock champagne, so my mom is stuck with a soda). When my mom and Aunt Sue get together, they’re always a fun time, and the rest of us just try and keep up. They pulled us up whenever a good song came on, and we’d dance and sing along loudly. It drew a bit of attention from the tables surrounding us, mostly because we were the only ones dancing and visibly having a good time. After a bit, a waitress brought over another round of drinks. She informed us that the table next to us bought us another round. We turned and give a little “thank you” wave to the dad table. They came to chat with us for a bit, and me and Kate ran off to the bathroom to avoid being flirted at. By the time we came back, they’d thankfully found their seats again, so we rejoined the ladies.

The song came on slow at first. A cute young woman with a remarkable voice belted out the first few lines. “Big wheels keep on turnin’, Proud Mary keep on burnin’, and we’re rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on a river.” We cheered as the song picked up the pace. Then suddenly, my mom climbed up on top of our table and started dancing. She knows all the moves to Proud Mary, and she was not holding anything back. Just to briefly remind you, she’d only had 2 glasses of champagne here. This is not a drunk response, this is just my mom being the greatest party queen of all time. All of us at the table responded accordingly, Kate slammed her elbow on the table to keep it steady, Sue danced and cheered from a slightly safer stance on the floor, Kelly was crying laughing, and I was filming the whole thing. A security guard came over and yelled at my mom to get down, which she did, but not before the entire bar was made aware that our table was the most lit in the whole venue. Dad table sent us a round of shots. The girl who sang came over to thank us for getting so into it. The bouncer came over again and asked us to leave. We walked back to our hotel crying with laughter.

I’ve told this story a lot. To friends, classmates, and dates. Even if you don’t know her, it’s funny as hell. But it’s not just something I share as evidence of my mom being super fun and a bit crazy. I share it because I’m proud of her. I’m so proud to be her daughter. She is a woman completely unashamed to share joy with the world. She will dance on a table because she wants to, and because she wants to make people smile. She can confidently talk to anyone, because she has no shame in who she is, and knows she is worthy of respect from everyone. And she is kind and generous, and shares her joy with the world.

I hope that one day, I can carry the legacy of all the lessons my mom has taught me. It’ll take time, and practice, and a whole lot of self love to master the lifestyle which she has turned into an art. But until I’ve got it down, I will never miss a chance to dance on a table. And neither will she.