Welp. 281 days have passed since my last blog post. Anyone still here?

I’m not promising it won’t take me another 281 to post again, but if you’re hoping for more, know this: it’ll take individual high praises, persistent check-ins, and an aggressive number of high fives to hold me accountable. I respond extremely well to praise. Just sayin’.

I don’t know if you all remember, but 2,429 days ago (wow, time flies), I wrote a post about how fall is my favorite. And in reflecting—and in retrospect—that sentiment may have been a tad too strong… and a tad unfair to the other seasons. I’ve also started to fear that my shitting on summer in that post is gonna bring me some bad juju or something. So, with apology and love, I’m here to formally retract the blatant favoritism I showed to fall in 2018.

I’ve been trying to reframe some of my more judgey ‘tudes lately too—to lead with happier, smilier faces. And I’m reminded of that commitment by one very specific moment: this one time last year, a rude dude in a big tough guy truck yelled at me to “move the fck faster!” while trying to make his left turn onto Ashland from Catalpa. Never mind that I had the green light to cross. (Pardon me for thinking pedestrians have the right of way. Oh wait… they do.)

Anyway, just a few hours before that encounter, I’d been released from the hospital. I was walking across the street to pick up my pain meds from Walgreens. Internally, this man made my blood absolutely boil. But instead of reacting, I smiled and gave him a little wave—hospital bracelet and all—hoping he might see it and feel something human.

So thank you, rude sir. In being so rude, you reminded me of something important: that kindness matters, especially in a world that doesn’t always feel so gentle.

All that to say…

Summer, you’re a sweetie too. Sorry for playing favorites that one time. This one’s for you. 🫶

⸻

CHICAGO SUMMER IS ALMOST HERE.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself… despite waking up to a “feels like 34 degrees” situation this morning. And the 90-degree day last week isn’t helping, other than reminding me the weather might be just as bipolar as I am. So I guess… this is some kind of mental health advocacy post too???

I’m stoked for summer szn, y’all. And if you’re not yet on the same page, I hope the reasons below help shift your mindset.

In the past, I’ve referred to summer as the season I never quite feel ready for: sand in my pants, dodging major swamp ass, never quite feeling beach bod ready.

BUT THAT MINDSET IS NO MORE.

Bring on the swamp ass! If you can’t stop staring at my booty, just admit it—you’re probably experiencing some wet in other places too!! Lolz.

(Suddenly really hoping my coworkers don’t read this, but they do follow me on the ‘gram sooo… apologies for the awkiezzz in advance, Pie peeps.)

There’s so much to love about summer—beyond the obvious stuff like street fests and getting a tan.

WNBA season. NWSL season. Basically all our fav gay sports are back, bbyy!

And I am so here for it. Find me playing streetball at every opportunity—and really channeling my sporty spice energy with any other sport that’ll have me.

Also, every time I visit my parents’ place in summer (hi Mom, hi Dad—really hope you never find this, but if you do, I’ll definitely blame my more conservative cousins for showing you), I throw on long sleeves and compliment their aggressively efficient AC system just to hide my tattoos. And it’s in moments like that I’m reminded: summer is queerness on full display. The tattoos are out, the hair might get a big ol’ masc chop, the carabiners are dangling, the shorts are short, and the croppy toppies are crop-toppin’.

My job is literally to cure social isolation (another plug 🔌 for Pie); but has anyone done a wellness check on Lady Michigan 🌊 since last summer?! Imagine the loneliness she must experience without a bunch of crazy kids jumping in for months! For real though…

Patios are also back to having a purpose, which we love. I still remember my birthday in 2021—deep in the Covid era—celebrating in an outdoor bubble on the patio at Pilot Project. It was “feels like -17” degrees out. So yeah, patios are ready to get more action again.

And let’s be real… we all are.

Summer makes us lighter. Fewer mood swings, more park swings. More action in the day-to-day. Winkety-wink. 😉

And sure, in my old fall post I talked about how fall dates are hard to beat, but… let’s be honest: summer dates deserve to be on the leaderboard too.

You could come play streetball 🏀 with me. Or just show up as a sweaty spectator. Your call.

So Summer… I’m sorry. Truly. You deserve more credit. You bring the heat, the chaos, the carabiners. You bring the queer joy we need now more than ever.

You know what they say: sun’s out, sapphics out.

Here’s to you, Summer.

Fall may remain the stud of the seasons. But you, my friend—you’re bringing the sexy back. 🌈

⸻

PS: If you made it this far, you’re my favorite.

No pressure, but feel free to call me, beep me for the high praise, high fives, throw singles at me, etc.

Otherwise… like I said, might be another 281 until you hear from me.

xoxo,

Gossip Marty

I solemnly swear to make my post after this one more light-hearted to get some giggles out of whatever silly people go out of their way to read this. until then, pardon the sappy.

a few years ago, I wrote February 19th. that date will forever be ingrained in my brain. rereading the blog post, I realized how much I beat around the bush in writing it so here’s the harder, more straightforward truth: I was fired from a job I poured so much love into, was hospitalized, and diagnosed with bipolar all in the same day. (for real y’all, I recommend spreading that shit out if you can). the serendipitous, good karma of February 19th hit me this year when i started working at pie that very date, and suddenly, i really feel that singing “Kill em with kindness” on repeat all these years paid off (shouts to Selena Gomez – an also having bipolar baddie).

I feel like I’d be doing a disservice not to resurface these words:

To my friend — my gritty, beautiful, loving, inspiring, irreplaceable friend: take your time. Let it pour. Give this place the most beautiful storm it has ever seen. And when you’re ready, I’ll come find you.

Love, 

Happiness

I’ve been feeling really, really happy lately. and I want to knock on all the wood in the world right now, not to jinx losing this feeling that took so long to believe in and feel again. at the same time, i would take every ounce of happy in me, and give it to my friends that could use more of it today than i can. i promise I’m not saying this in an attempt to sound heroic, or to paint a false narrative that’s actually physically impossible. i just truly get joy by giving.

recent conversations have really led me to believe that there is no better way of loving anything or anyone than by telling the truth. the more I reflect on this sentiment, the more it resonates; the more it resonates, the more i see it rippling through my life more than ever these days – in my friendships, in my relationship, in reading my visit summaries after each doctor visit… truth feels scary sometimes; but there’s so much truth in love and vice versa.

I feel compelled to share the parts of my story that don’t always surface when I’m posting all smiles on the ‘gram or when I’m surrounded by my favorite people and also can’t help being nothing but smiles. the truth is, i struggled for years. i still do sometimes. and when I do, i listen to the same ~25 songs on the repeat in my “feels” playlist, including Superbloom by Misterwives that I’m missing seeing performed live right now, in this very moment (loving you a little extra, Katie, for FaceTiming me in). Today, I’m adding another song into the shuffle. To my friends — my gritty, beautiful, loving, inspiring, irreplaceable friends, this one’s for you:

so much creds to my sidebraid sister.

…because of the free furniture on the side of the road.

…because of strangers who will play a card game together to show that we’re not really [strangers].

…because of the shiny silver “you’re beautiful” stickers I see as I stroll.

…because I get to work hard and laugh at work.

…because I realized kindness is the number one thing that makes us bright.

…because the sun shines.

…because of disposable cameras’ & snail mail’s comeback.

…because inflation somehow dodges Costco’s food court.

…because of random friend FaceTimes.

…because of the rise of women’s sports.

…because brat.

…because of new & old besties becoming bestie-r by day.

…because style is part of my self-care.

…because “I just want to feel like myself again” sits in my past.

…because of the most uplifting three words that got me through then & now:

proud of you.

♥️

As I write, I’m actively people watching from the patio at Hexe (pronounced a bit too much how it’s spelled – second E is not silent apparently). I have a perfect corner spot in the shade to see the entire court😎. Here’s what I’m seeing:

12 tables are taken.

4 have laptops up.

3 people are ridin’ solo, myself included.

That’s enough for the stats though; the 3 x 4 = 12 of it all feels right for the reporting.

I’m only in eavesdropping distance to one of the tables. I’ll take what I can get though. This table has two dudes sitting at it. As one approached the other, they did the basic “bro” handshake and then proceeded to say “dude” back-and-forth five too many times. Dude 1 is giving Dude 2 a Notion 101 lesson. And tbh, as a Notion newbie myself, I super +1 this convo; notion has been keeping my work life in order and I love me a sharp project management platform. Dude 1 has a speaker attached to his laptop and is wearing a Kingston Mines shirt; I wonder if his day job is music adjacent.. I don’t have any curiosities about Dude 2; seems like just your average dude.

Now for the couple sitting to my left. They’re giving me Gen Z vibes. One is reading a textbook that looks bland, long, and boring. (I wish I could see what he’s reading, but I did just come directly from an eye exam and my ever-worsening vision isn’t doing me justice in the moment). The other is locked into her laptop, doom-scrolling the latest fashion trends. Scroll on, friend.

Speaking of friend, next to them is probs my top choice human I’d be happy to befriend, and yes, it’s mostly cuz I sense some queer vibes. The tattoos, kavu, sports bra, checkered vans, cannondale bike combo is only reaffirming my assumptions. Seems to also be actively people-watching; shit we just locked eyes. I digress …

Summertime Chi is here, and it feels like it’s gonna be gone before we know it. I could do away with the 80+ degree heat, but I can’t help but lament the impending end of peak patio, people-watching season. As I observe with unending curiosity about the people around me, I can’t help but wonder how to strike up a conversation at a coffee shop without it feeling awkward, especially as my phone’s battery reaches its final breadth and I need to land on my next form of entertainment. Feels like a friends of friends vibe solution could be a nice solve one day…

I recently squeezed my way into a sold out Moth storytelling show where the topic for the night was guts. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since then. Sometimes I dream of getting up on the Moth stage and spewing a five minute story, but then I remember how public speaking makes my voice tremble, literally. And so I resort to my next best option, writing, even as I need more peer pressure to return to my writing roots. At the Moth shows, they accept audience submissions that are read aloud by the MC between the stories. At this show, they asked: when’s the last time you chickened out? So I answered by writing: “when I wore a long sleeve to my parent’s house in the 95 degree heat to hide my tattoos from my homo & tattoo-phobic parents.”

My most recent ink makes me insanely happy; it’s a cracked lightbulb with a bow inside, representing the ebbs and flows of creativity – what I consider one of my greatest gift at times. Exposing my tattoos to my parents will take guts. While I fear just ripping the bandaid off, I’m also eager for their reaction; if it exacerbates their already existing disappointment, it’ll only reinforce what I already feel and strengthen the love for those I do have.

In the meantime, here’s what I want more of in my life to lighten the loads of the hard shit:

I want more photoshoots on the beach in a sandstorm after a game of beach volleyball. I want more champagne popping in June for all the queers living their best lives and even more for those that brave coming out so we could welcome them in. I want to dance my heart out at my friends’ weddings this year even though I really can’t dance. I want impromptu interviews with a mini mic in hand, especially when it’s been nearly a decade since a friend has gotten a chance to practice one professionally. I want to destroy a piñata to crush people’s soul-sucking grief and to find a way to bring them a softer surprise they didn’t see coming. I want spontaneity of pressing “purchase flight” or a roadtrip to Iowa to see Chappell Roan perform or to Indianapolis to see Caitlin Clark play or to a cabin to watch the serenity of a creek. I want the ebbs & flows of creativity to keep kickin’. I want to go on a book tour with the writers in my life. I want to give tours of my city to experience new things. I want more platonic just-because-I-love-you parties. I want to feel all the emotions that Inside Out 2 reminded me of, that we really can’t change, but those that shape me.

I believe that gut-wrenching moments and hard conversations will shape us. I believe that taking on the trembling voice head-on takes time and vulnerability. I believe that we can love harder by celebrating the little moments that are actually really, really big. At the core of it all, I whole-heartedly believe that joy begets more joy, and we will love harder as we face the things that take guts to help us grow.

My second ever tattoo is now stamped on me forever (thank you, Clover! @tattoosbyclover). It’s of a phone booth with a cape inside; the cape should be red, but I’m afraid of red ink. While I don’t think every tattoo needs to carry deep meaning, my first two do.

My second tattoo is shaped perfectly to sit next to my first, which was designed with piecing together chosen family in mind. My second tattoo is inspired by the following lyrics of Andrea Gibson’s poem, The Nutritionist:

“You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy. I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside
Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside some days…”

—

The last time I saw Andrea Gibson perform live at Thalia Hall in Chicago, I felt just about every emotion known to man in that short two(ish) hour performance. How is it possible for each word they say to hit my heart so hard? I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I see a lot of me in them: The way they embrace awkward before any one else realizes how charming awkward can be. The way they captivate the crowd with compassion, reading their poems through an empathetic lens. The way they draw in the queerest, most beautiful crowd. The way they center simple, gentle kindness.

I’ve been feeling really good about life in general lately. To the point that I’ve begun to question whether the good is too good to be true. But I will say, it took me nearly four years to feel like I fully bounced back. While I want to relish in this high for as long as possible, I can’t ignore or forget (even though I wish I could) the time when I was at such a low point that even going outside or getting off the couch felt like a chore.

When I was spending my quarantine at Galter, I would count down the minutes until I was able to use the phone. I had a notebook with my friends’ numbers written down, and I would call them from a swanky little phone booth that in retrospect, pretty closely resembles the one in my tattoo. I wasn’t actually thinking about my phone calls at Galter until after the tattoo was already on, though.

While I could hone in on the Clark Kent changing into Superman in a phone booth analogy, I think there’s more to it than that. The phone booth tattoo, for me, is a reminder that resilience, in combination with a debilitating diagnosis, is my superpower; I choose to view it that way at least, otherwise I’d be hurting a lot more. I really believe, we can break out of our hardest times somehow. And well, sometimes it takes phoning a friend to help you get there.

The closest people in my life now can attest how hard it is to actually get me to sit still these days. It’s like I’m making up for lost time by flooding my time to spend with people I love at any opportunity I get.

My second ever tattoo is now stamped on me forever. And for my third, I’m thinking of getting a stamp (literally), because I’m actually excited to send and advocate for more snail mail in this new year.

Let me know your thoughts and feelings, fam <3.

On January 1, 2024, one of my BFFs left me an already year-changing voice memo (read: word vomitted), wishing me to find the simple, weird (I think she meant “awkward”) joys this year. Before I get into the saga about my soon-to-come search for simple joys, I’m going to reveal a fun secret fact that most people, even my best friends, probably don’t know about me: I have a fear of public speaking.

Between this post and my last, I find it fascinating how even the closest people in my life are still learning new things about me. It’s not that I’m intentionally trying to withhold information. I just think it takes specific moments, relatable encounters, carefully-crafted questions, or putting me in the hot seat to dig deeper into who I am. I guess that can go for anyone though.

If there’s anything I hope y’all know by now it’s that ya girl can talk. I value honest, vulnerable conversation which is why I’m such an advocate for the occasional heart to heart. And yet, believe it or not, your very, very extraordinarily extroverted, chatty, can’t-keep-her-mouth-shut friend (me), is afraid of public speaking. There, I said it. Let that oxymoron sink in.

Maybe writing it down is the first step to conquering the fear. In the meantime, let me provide a little back story:

In elementary school, up until 3rd grade, I was one of the quietest kids in class. That lasted until my 3rd grade teacher, Ms. Donavan, sat me down next to the loudest boy in the room, Tim, who I eventually developed a huge, innocent crush on (I know, a boy crush.. another shocker). I think Ms. Donavan’s goal was for mine and Tim’s talking levels to meet somewhere in the middle, but instead, I just adopted Tim’s too-chatty ways. And it’s carried over to this day.

I went to a Catholic school, so once a week, we all had to attend Mass. Kids rotated between certain roles each week (readings, carrying the cross, helping with communion, etc). One random Mass day, my brother was signed up to do the readings. I watched as he stood at the mic on the altar, and his voice and hands were trembling; I thought he was going to burst into tears. My brother is a very strong public speaker now, by the way. I don’t know what happened to me in that moment of watching him speak, but FOR YEARS after, I experienced the same trembling any time I was put in the spotlight – even on a much smaller stage, like when students would take turns reading in class. I would do anything I could to dodge speaking in front of groups, and eventually, I think my teachers took a hint and spared me the embarrassment from time to time. At the same time, I was still really talkative and relatively popular, particularly as the sporty spice of the school. It was confusing, for sure.

Fast forward to college, public speaking still wasn’t my forte, but I had to power through presentations somehow. So I reverted to taking a shot of tequila or two before each big event. In retrospect, it wasn’t enjoyable and I have my regrets about it too.

A few days ago, I was playing the game Worst Case Scenario, where you rank five scenarios in order of which presented scenarios are your worst, and the rest of the group has to try to guess your rankings. During one round, everyone was way off on where I ranked “singing the national anthem at the Super Bowl”; it was my penultimate worst, second only to a parachute not opening while skydiving (decided actual death fell just slightly behind wishing I were dead in the temporary moment of singing on stage).

Two years (+2 days) ago, on January 2, 2022, my sidebraid sista published a blog post titled, “Fear of Flying” that I just went back and re-read. The aforementioned voice memo inspired me to start off strong with my writing this year, and it also made writing easier as her word-vomiting emphasized finding the strange, simple joys in life: like singing “Club going up.. on a Tuesday” outside of Trader Todd’s when they’re closed on Tuesdays; and FaceTiming all 30+ people in the Girlie Gang group chat, to have only the most recent member actually answer, extremely unimpressed.

It’s only the fourth day of 2024, and I’ve already had a memorable start. On New Year’s Day, I had to make a 50/50 decision on whether to keep the lid on my new coffee grinder. Unfortunately, I chose wrong and left it off. As a result, coffee grounds went flying everywhere. It was a lesson learned early in the year, and I think it can only go uphill from here.

Another year, and I’m still surrounded by people who continue to support and root for me in my still uncertain conquest to find my fulfilling career path. Slowly but surely, I’m inching my way in a better direction. Whether that comes as a result of receiving a rejection letter that gives me a bit of a reality check or receiving encouraging words from mentors and friends, I’m getting there. I’m counting on both believing in serendipity and leaning into the idea of the deserving-of-being italicized word, also appearing as such in Fear of Flying: pivoting. I have a love/hate relationship with the word [pivot]. From one end, I did play basketball (Sam – please remind Jake!), and pivoting was an important component of the game. In the professional sense, a career pivot could be a good thing too. After all, my values have definitely evolved over recent years. From the other end, “pivot” also feels like one of those overrated, overused words in the professional sense; I’d categorize it in a similar bucket as “let me circle back” or “per my last email..” But at the end of the day, I’m still going to lean into the pivot, and shoot my shot when I can. If pivoting opens up scoring opportunities in basketball, I think it could do the same for my career.

In a way, I could create some sort of a parallel between pivoting careers and my fear of public speaking. It can be scary, but also, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. I still get nervous when public speaking, but it’s gotten better. For example, I don’t mind presenting to small groups of strangers or to large groups of friends, but speaking in front of a large crowd of mostly strangers still sounds like a personal nightmare. I hope to conquer that fear one day; maybe it’ll take booking a trip and telling no one to go perform at The Moth one day (to borrow from a good friend of mine who did exactly that). Until then though, I’ll continue practicing as my friends inevitably always choose me to be the one to give the toasts at a party or the speech at other celebrations.

To wrap things up in a not necessarily succinct fashion: my plan in the new year is to continue practicing patience, embrace the idea of a pivot, and to never overlook footnotes – it’s funny how even a simple footnote could evolve into a simple joy that’s even more beautiful than where it first began*.

*1st footnote in HPP history: I love love & friend love. One can turn into the other or vice versa, and one day you can even luck out to have both. A special shoutout to the person who borrowed my shoulder one New Year, and then left me an inspiring, already year-changing voice memo another. We find ourselves on the verge of tears some days; but at the end of the day, the love and the friend love, one evolving into the other or, better yet, to both, is f*cking beautiful. Cheers to the most beautiful simple joy of 2024 that I already found: loving love & friend love.

Surprise – me, Marty again! I told y’all HPP wouldn’t be back until 2024, but here I am, blessing ya babes with the content and words y’all didn’t even know you needed.

Christmas has come and gone. I’m currently sitting at Dark Matter Coffee and actively eavesdropping (whoops!) on the baristas’ convo with each other: “What is the greatest gift that you received this year, guys?” asked the dude with the pearl necklace (edgy boi!) who took my order: iced green tea, unsweetened. One barista said his favorite gift was a hello kitty poster, the other said, “a cool shirt.” (Sorry, I didn’t eavesdrop hard enough to get the cool shirt details).

I spent Christmas in NYC with some of my favorite people and since coming back, I’ve been hanging out mostly with Katie and my two new, temporary roommates who I love and adore. I genuinely can’t wait for their permanent move to the best city, and for the bromance I never knew I needed (hi, Mike!.. & any other m&m boiz reading).

Over the recent gift-giving and gift-receiving days, I’ve been surprised to hear from a few of my nearest and dearest friends how hard I am to shop for. Sorry to break it to y’all: gift-receiving isn’t my love language. In fact, it’s the lowest of the bunch. Gift-giving, on the other hand, we can talk. There’s nothing I love more than spoiling and loving on my favorite people with thoughtful, creative gifts.

With my birthday just around the corner (February 3rd in case you forgot to mark your GCals), I’m here to give y’all yet another gift: a very not subtle hint on what I want for my 31st birthday. For those that don’t already know me: hi again! I’m Martha, preferring Marty more recently, and I’m really excited for my second tattoo ever tomorrow (*update: just rescheduled to January 12th)! Also, quality time and words of affirmation are BY FAR my top two love languages. With that in mind, I imagine y’all can take it from here…

Just kidding – let me spell it out:

All I want for my birthday is more dates with you, with sprinkles of occasional heart-to-hearts. I like long walks around Andersonville (not the beach), taking lots of pictures (selfies, especially), and just in case, y’all now already know my tea order. I don’t like Netflix (for the most part) but I do like “chill”. And well, if you really want to go the extra mile, write me a love letter & just wrap a tissue box as your gift to me.

That’s all I want, my friends. Your love, your words, your quality time, maybe a tissue box, and your undivided attention.

My roommates and Katie are back. And now I have to wrap up this post, so I could get back to engaging in quality convo. Maybe I’ll even put my phone away during our happy hour double date. But you’re welcome y’all – let the 36 day countdown to February 3rd begin!

Cheers to 2024 so soon, and to less stressin’ about what to get me for my day of birth. 😉

With love,

Marty

I live in the first story of a two-flat in Andersonville. (I think that’s vague enough to avoid any stalkers). Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been waking up around 7am, no alarm, impressively, and nowhere to be. The magnolia tree outside the window of our living room is certainly confused, sprouting buds mid-December. As I glance out the window, I’m reminded that the windows could use a good wash, and that to an extent, I could relate to the December – budding magnolia.

As the world’s Jordan year (thanks, sidebraid sista) comes to a close, I want to reflect on the trivialities I’m thankful for, the semi-existential crisis of work, the people who warm my heart consistently, and of course, my writing.

The trivialities:

◦ Bevvies: I’m no caffeine connoisseur but hot damn do I love my iced oat lattes and coffee with coconut creamer. My motto goes: two cups a day keeps me gay. After a visit to World of Coke just a week ago, I have to shamelessly admit how much I love my dabs of caffeine from Diet Coke too. Iced teas, preferably green & peach. OJ. Gatorade. Topo Chico’s from the glass bottles. Picklebacks were a pivotal part of my 2023, and they may slowly but surely be phased out in the next year (please don’t panic, people).

◦ The clutchness of coupons: I’m sorry; but if you don’t have at least 3 different grocery store or shopping apps on your phone and aren’t clipping those damn coupons, do you have a secret to spending so freely? Spill the secret if so.

◦ Jewelry: the edgier, the mismatch-ier the earrings, the better. Also pearl necklaces are what the pretty bois are wearing these days I hear. Ask me about my pretty boi swag.

◦ Trashy reality TV: shoutout, Gerry.

The semi-existential crisis:

LOL @ adulting. Just when I think I’ve got it all figured out, life decides to throw a curveball that sends me spiraling into another profesh existential crisis. Imagine this: I’m sitting at my desk, doing my very best to be a semi-responsible adult, when BAM! The news hits me like a ton of bricks. The company is going KAPOOOOOT. Cue the dramatic music and the internal screaming. So here comes a tragicomedy, with me as the star, desperately trying to navigate the treacherous waters of job hunting. The fear of unemployment is lurking around every corner, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Amidst the chaos, there are glimmers of hope. Serendipitous opportunities have presented themselves, like little rays of sunshine peeking through the storm clouds. So chin up, fellow job hunter, because this rollercoaster ride of life is just getting started. Who knows what exciting adventures await us in the next chapter? Embrace the uncertainty, laugh in the face of adversity, and remember to always update your beneficiaries: I have strong opinions about who that $200 in my bank account is gonna go to.

The people who warm my heart:

I won’t go naming you all, at least at this go around. But I will emphasize how special this year has been. One of my favorite people moved far, far away for the sake of my future startup and to preserve my liver, while still solemnly refusing to donate a kidney in the future. Another favorite reminded me how me meeting her future partner will be a BFD because of the weight my opinion of special people in our lives holds. I reunited with another favorite this year, traveling like the good ol’ days and bringing back the nostalgia of flannel Fridays (rip). My favorite person not only warms my heart but has my heart, even if I have to be her personal radiator every night. There are people that have just entered my life this last year that have already offered up their kidneys, and I just want to catch up on the 29 years of my life y’all missed. I have so many people I couldn’t do this roller coaster of a life without. Buckle up babes, here’s to another drama-full, beautiful year where I have so much love to continue to give y’all.

Writing:

I suppose the primary reason I should be writing is to share something compelling with my readers. I hope my writing resonates with some people, or at least is interesting or entertaining enough to keep them wanting more. I have exactly 12 followers on my blog, 8 of whom I don’t even know. Influencer-bound; that’s for sure. I must break it to y’all who have made it to this point: my journey with my blog has been largely inspired by my own self-interest. My relationship with writing lately has been like a never-ending game of hide-and-seek with my ideas. I’m the seeker, desperately searching for that elusive spark of inspiration, while my ideas are the mischievous hiders, giggling and taunting me from behind the couch of writer’s block. It’s like a never-ending game of cat and mouse, except I’m the mouse and my ideas are the cats, always just out of reach.

While I write these pieces largely for myself, I really do think the audience matters too. A couple dedicated friends made it known to me that they have read my entire blog, start to finish. But for the most part, I’ve never been entirely sure who reads my pieces anymore. If you feel comfy, I’d love for you to subscribe, or just shoot me a text so I know you’ve read it, or maybe even share your thoughts. It’s not that I care about the followers, I just think that if I can keep the people reading this in mind every time, writing would come a lot easier to me. As we wrap up the World’s Jordan year, I know I want to become a better, more frequent writer in 2024. And with that, I remind myself how much MJ had to practice.

I began the year by creating a window into the struggle through writing and finding myself professionally. I’ve tried to leave that window into my thoughts, feelings and experiences wide open all year. I’m looking out the window once again. It’s dark outside now, 4:24pm. Like the magnolia, I’m confused on what I’m supposed to be doing next. But I’ll continue to sprout, even if I’m a little scared to do it in a season when I’m least supposed to.

I’m most likely going to have to move again next year, with my landlord looking to sell our two—flat. But with that, I’m hopeful to have a lovely queer commune purchased by the end of 2024. A heftier goal. And becoming a better writer; the less hefty one.

Grateful for what I saw and shared, and hopeful that it illuminated something worthwhile for you, I’m closing the window — at least until 2024.

I recently found myself reflecting on the sweet things I’ve accomplished in life, all thanks to my Archrival (aka opponent by definition, hopefully turned future teammate, if you catch my drift). So, I kicked off my morning today by infusing my coffee with Califia Farms’ Pumpkin Spice creamer and by pushing my writer’s block aside to manifest Major Sweet Energy (MSE).

First thing’s first: I think “sweet” can take on multiple meanings. (1) sweet as in cool, like witnessing an alley-oop buzzer beater and saying, “that was sweet, bro,” or as the kids would say, “sick, bro.” (2) Sweet as in kind, like remembering your friend’s half birthday and hearing them go, “aww, that was so sweet of you.” And of course, (3) sweet in the literal sense, like that pumpkin spice goodness that graced my coffee this morning.

With these definitions in mind, it’s safe to say I’ve pulled off some seriously sweet moves in life. From penning heartfelt love letters to my pals on Thanksgiving, to breaking the ice by bringing Sudoku on a (nerve-wracking!) first date with Katie since she was catching a flight the next day (and feelings, am I right?!). From virtually hanging out with Obama and nearly making it to the Olympics, to witnessing the Chicago Sky become WNBA champions. From guzzling countless Starbucks’ Iced Caramel Macchiatos in college to enduring those dreaded 7:30am dentist appointments, all while blaming my insatiable daily “sweet tooth.”

As we step into my favorite season of the year, I think we could all use a little more sweetness in our lives. Here are some thoughts to consider:

1. Relish in the opportunity of Reconnection. Reach out to that high school bestie you still low-key stalk on the ‘gram. Revisit an old hobby that’s been gathering dust. Reconnecting is the epitome of cool, in my opinion. Channel your MSE by nurturing those reconnections.

2. Strive for more Spontaneity. Buy those concert tickets or book those plane tickets without overthinking it – even if that means going on your own. Solo adventures are bomb, y’all. Channel your MSE by splurging on some well-deserved spontaneity every now and then.

3. Become a champion for Change. I recently had someone confess to me that they’ve been stuck in the same job for over seven years out of fear of change. Yes, change can be intimidating, but guess what? Change can also be sweet. Take risks and channel your MSE by wholeheartedly embracing change.

While I’ve had my fair share of let downs lately, I genuinely believe that positivity is on its way. Will that mean relocating to a place like Portland or adding an extra dollop of pumpkin spice to my fall bevs? Who knows. While I can’t predict the future, I can confidently declare this: We’ve got one life. One incredibly sweet, sweet life. So, “Just make it f’n awesome,” my friends.