I’ve returned to a few old haunts in the last 48 hours and they’ve reminded me that the past (despite its bad rap) can pull you forward if you give it more than a sliver of chance.
For some reason vulnerability has scared me a bit more over the last year… Perhaps, I thought, it would be best to stop spilling my guts on the Internet.
After lamenting a deficit of “normal” compliments in my life, I’ve comforted myself by concluding that–while I’ll never be the Marsha Brady of the world–at least people are forced to go off autopilot when they address me.
I think it is common for teens to want to push their damages under the rug, hoping that they’ll disappear. As I’ve grown older I’ve learnt that the most interesting, well-rounded people tend to pull them out, stare them boldly in the face, and, eventually, move on.
Why friends who get pumped up by things that you initially could care less about are–in my book (see: that of Jess, rather than Job)–the best friends to surround yourself with.
When fashion week (on week-on week-on week) rolled around last month, I found myself dreading it. This, despite the fact that I’m not directly involved in it in any way.
I feel like a lot of my life lately has been oscillating between extremes—really fucking amazing and totally shitty. It’s finding that middle ground that is so difficult–balance.
The more you try on different hats, the easier it is to pinpoint what you like and don’t like, who you really are beyond the mirror.
I realize that I can’t fault my favorite virtual venues for trying to cash in a bit on their popularity—after all making it in America is not as dreamy as we’d once hoped.