epiphany

Earlier this week I wasted way too much energy fretting over someone’s negativity. Someone was rude to me and I overreacted. You have no idea how many revenge plots I planned. I was in fucking headstand in yoga working through a few different scenarios.

And then! Just now. I thought about at least five people who have been genuinely kind and gracious to me in the past two days alone. God, I think I could count five just this morning. And holy shit does that outweigh one incident of feelings-hurt-woe-is-me.

People are mostly good, aren’t they?

Breathe in love y’all — even if it takes three days, several glasses of wine, and one too many typed out and deleted tongue-in-cheek social media posts. You’ll get there eventually.

your sexist shit is driving me crazy

I was at happy hour last Friday when a guy (someone I barely know) looked around his group of friends and asked, “Isn’t there a difference between ‘good crazy’ and ‘bad crazy’ when it comes to girls?”

He looked at me and asked again. Since he asked I offered, “Well, they’re both sexist as shit.” My sister groaned next to me. She was right — I should have been a little more socially acceptable.

Balance is a bitch, right?

If you had asked me at 18 if I was a feminist I would have cringed. I still don’t have a firm grasp on the word — I don’t want to lay claim to a term that identifies women who have spent their wholes lives working towards a singular cause — but I’ve grown so much in the past six years, sometimes I barely recognize myself.

I used to question girls who championed sexual abuse awareness. Isn’t that shitty? I used to wonder, “Well, what happened to them?” Flash forward a few years and I stand with them with a ferocity that can turn into biting anger in a flash. I do what I can,  such small things, like sharing Facebook posts and making sure certain events — volunteer opportunities for a rape hotline — get entered into the calendar of the paper where I work.

I don’t have the answers for what is and isn’t sexist, what’s offensive, what’s “OK.” I can take a joke. I think. The lines often blur.

 I smile and wave when someone honks at me, and I mean it. I genuinely consider it to be a friendly gesture.

I’ve stood, baffled and frozen when a stranger groped me in a bar.

I’ve had plenty of slapping-the-shit-out-of-assholes dreams. Just dreams, though.

The happy hour guy didn’t mean to be a jerk when he asked about girls being good and bad crazy. He flipped the question quickly and asked, “Well what about guys being crazy?” My sister and I agreed that guy-crazy sounds like domestic abuse. “Exactly!” he proclaimed.

But it’s not “exactly.” 

It’s: use a different fucking word. You know how it’s common knowledge not to flippantly throw around “gay” or “retarded”? Crazy falls under that category too.

It matters so much because it implies so much. I get pissed just thinking about men who flip a switch on a girl the minute she becomes something they don’t like. Too drunk? Crazy. Too clingy? Crazy. Too chatty? Crazy.

And for the most part the use of “crazy” is nothing more than annoying. I think most men don’t mean any harm when they talk absentmindedly about the women in their lives.

But it’s the ones that do. The ones that let crazy, and often, drunk, slip into something else. “She wanted it. She should have wanted it. She’s crazy, who cares?”

If you do anything today, stop using that word. If you’re dating a girl and she’s texting you more than you’d like, maybe think, “I believe this chick and I should discuss our communication issues.”

Not, “What a crazy girl.”

As for me, well, I won’t call a near-stranger out for sexism if he isn’t hurting anyone with his words.

(The thing is, he always is).

love, what is it good for

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, which for me, was fairly uneventful.

It’s today that I think about: President’s Day. Two years ago today I dropped off my then-boyfriend at the Charleston airport and we decided to break up. We cried, kissed, and said goodbye. I drove around for thirty minutes, crying, sighing, taking real deep breaths. Then I went in to work at the finance company where I was a secretary, fielding calls from New York clients. It was the worst day of my life.

Two years later, I’m so grateful for that day. Ex-boyfriend and I still talk sometimes and we’ve both come very far. Ok, so he’s borderline rich and famous now and I’m still crossing my fingers every time I run my debit card, but we’re both in good places. I think we’re both happy. Happier than we’ve ever been, perhaps. I am at least.

I don’t mind Valentine’s Day. I love roses and chocolates and people taking pictures of their shitty stuffed bears and poorly lit romantic meals. I genuinely like it. I curl into my dog and let myself eat pasta doused in shredded cheese and I call it a lovefest like no other.

I’m not worried about finding my next love. I know it will happen eventually. I’m not perusing dating sites, although the siren call of Tinder gets to me every once in a while. Who doesn’t like to be liked?

Sometimes I think people cling to love for love’s sake. Well, shit, I know they do. I do, I have. The last few guys I’ve dated, I’ve even manufactured memories for us.

Sitting in a field, getting drunk off shitty mixed drinks. Sneaking into an under construction beach house to, you know. I liked what was happening, but I knew none of it would ever have me driving around at 7 a.m., crying into my steering wheel as I braced myself for work. It couldn’t be love.

So this President’s Day, I’m celebrating love. Letting love go two years ago was one of the best decisions I (and someone else — you can’t make these decisions alone) ever made.

Don’t wallow in a lack of love. Revel in what’s to come.

As for love, well, if it’s not the good kind, what’s the point?

complaining isn’t a conversation piece

I came to this realization when I woke up this morning, rolling around my bed, neither tired nor awake, stuck in the purgatory of 7 a.m.’s soft sunlight.

It’s like talking about the weather — except not nearly as harmless. It’s boring, it’s exhausting, and I do it all the time.

So, today’s Monday and it can’t be all that bad. Spice up your life by saying one good thing instead of one shitty one. I think we’ll all sound a lot more interesting.