I’ve started and not finished more things than I can count, from workout routines to learning instruments and even writing books. I have little to no discipline and about the same amount of drive. My family doesn’t have this problem. Dad is a doctor, and Mom was a nurse and is now a business owner. My brother works in environmental policy and has a kid.

Those are all very important and commendable pursuits.

I love my job! I do! I’m an event planner, bookseller, and bartender all at one place. That’s pretty sick. But it barely pays the bills, and I don’t want to put on a smile and explain orange wine for the rest of my life. Also, cutting people off is a bummer, and so is cleaning bathrooms at the end of the shift.

I’ve finished a few things. High school (was up in the air), college (probably even more up in the air), an EP, a zine with a friend, and how to play guitar (a lifelong pursuit, but I’m proficient enough). I’m sure there are more, but the good floats away and the disappointment sticks around.

I can’t blame it on one thing. It’s a mix of ADHD, youngest child energy, chronic illness, and probably just my personality. I’ve tried planners, lists, apps, etc. But motivation is so elusive even when it’s something I know I want.

I started this newsletter a bit ago and told myself I would use it as a way to make writing a more constant thing in my life. I miss it. I’ve started a few pieces here and there. They’ve been mostly self-involved, as is a lot of my writing. I’d say I’d work on it, but I’ve been this way for 20+ years, and I don’t really see it changing. Write what you know and all that jazz. But each piece falls flat, or it fizzles out without a true conclusion. I’m not trying to be revolutionary here, but I don’t want to share something useless. It has to be good.

Why would I finish something if it’s not going to be good? Why would I disappoint myself with mediocrity?

Anyway, I’m going to start doing things even if I think I’m bad at them. My therapist suggested it, and she hasn’t steered me wrong in 4 years. So, I got polymer clay to make a ring holder and a kit to make mosaic coasters. If they suck, I will do my best not to freak out. I promise. I still might, though. Baby steps.

I’m applying that to this newsletter. I’m not letting myself sit and ruminate on how to say something meaningful or funny or intelligent. Though I do hope each post has a sprinkle of those things in it. I am a performer at heart.

I’ll share my trials and errors. I’ll celebrate anything that is above average and some average things. Maybe this will be the motivation. Maybe this could be the drive. Maybe now that I’m 30, I can develop discipline. A second coming of age, if you will.

Feel free to throw things at me in public if it’s been more than a month since I’ve shared my silly thoughts with you. Public embarrassment works pretty well on me, sadly.

Anyway, I’ve mostly been reading “why choose” romance books this summer, which has in fact inspired me to write one (make me finish this too!) Lmk if I should make an entire post with the breakdown of my favorites from this genre…

And this is what I’ve been listening to this summer:

Header Image:

Me getting drunk at Clem’s in Brooklyn for my 30th birthday. Taken by Taylor ❤️

I’ve started a newsletter twice, and like many of my projects, I’ve abandoned it just as many times. The concept of sharing my thoughts is alluring, but when I do, my body burns with embarrassment. I don’t have an MFA, and I haven’t published anything professionally since 2021. How humiliating to assume people care what I think? How arrogant to think my ideas are important enough to share?

Maybe that’s all art is: embarrassingly arrogant.

I’ve been talking a lot about moving through shame and embarrassment in therapy, and I’ve always done well with exposure therapy.

So, here are a few things I love. How could I ever be embarrassed of something I love?

I love pouring my cheap drip coffee over tiny ice cubes I prepared the night before. I love listening to my friends’ music through big speakers. I love singing along to the same songs over and over until I find new ones to take their place. I love that the seasons of my life have a soundtrack because of this habit.

I love getting stoned and reading on my couch. I love beautiful books. I love books that make me blush and books that make me cry. I love getting texts from people who love me right as the loneliness creeps in, like they have some sixth sense for when I need them. I love sweating on patios, drinking with my friends hours after the sun has gone down–the air still thick with summer heat. I love getting a rosemary and salt bagel with veggie cream cheese as a treat for waking up early (9:30 am) to work my only morning shift every Saturday. I love my job (even though I hate working.)

I love when my mom sends me things in the mail. This week, it was magnesium supplements to help me sleep. I love it when my brother calls me while he’s driving my niece home from daycare, and I can hear her babbling in the back seat. I love that Taylor gets me an Oreo milkshake without me asking for it. I love how the cats curl up on my chest and purr. I love knowing they feel safe with me.

I love getting tattoos that mean something, and I love getting tattoos just because I love the art. I love making people laugh when they see my “Oof” tattoo. I love making people laugh in general.

I love writing even though I’m scared that I’m not good at it. I love dancing even though I know I’m not good at it (no matter what one drunk guy at Sagebrush said.) And that’s how I know exposure therapy works for me.