This year couldn’t have gone any worse. I struggle to believe it even happened. If I could have any superpower, it’d be to rewind time. For real though, I feel like I’m paying the price for being passionate. For caring about people and the work that I do. For giving all I have in me. That said, time (and therapy) heals all. This year has come with a lot of mixed feelings: the highs of happiness and the lows of sadness. And so, I present to you letters to and from Happiness and Sadness. The first is written by my Sidebraid sister, Lena. I couldn’t have done 2020 without her. I cry everytime I read what’s to follow:

Dear Friend,

You asked if you will ever be me again one day. The truth is you never were me, and you never will be me. You can feel me, dance with me, confuse me for that person in your selfie camera even. But to be me? That’s just not possible.

And why would you want to be me when you can be so much more? You are grit and patience and a rainbow before the storm even begins. You are every little damn thing when you feel like nothing. You are the first breath of fresh air when you step out of hell. You are sad and frustrated and more alive than I’ll ever be. 

You are not me because you are so much more than me. You are the reason I exist. Without you, there is no me. You are exactly what this world needs. Don’t you see, your friends and family — they don’t need me. They need you. That’s all they’ll ever need. That’s all you’ll ever need.

So while you’re questioning whether or not you will ever be me again one day, here I am right in front of you, looking for you. I am feeling you and dancing with you. I think about you when I play Someday by Kygo. I want to be you. I want to be you so freakin’ badly. I want to be you for a second, a minute, an hour, a day…I know I cannot be you for a lifetime. Only you can do that. But I am willing to spend a lifetime fighting like hell to be with you in as many moments as possible.

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

Dear Happiness, 

You’re not all you’re cracked out to be. I mean, why is it that people flaunt you and hide me. Just check any social media, you get all the attention. It’s not that I’m jealous, it’s just that to be me and to make me the center of attention, requires vulnerability. And so often, makes people feel guilty. 

Everybody wants to be you. I wish I had that effect on people. And I don’t think folks realize that at times, we’re opposite sides of the same coin. Sometimes people laugh so hard they cry; sometimes people cry so hard they end up laughing. I’ve been crying a lot lately and it’s because I’m me – not you. 

Look, life is unfair, and I feel like you got the better deal here. One might assume that extroverts can’t feel me but joke’s on them – I will find you when you least expect it. It’s not like people require a trip to the pharmacy every time you creep up on them. With you, it’s piñatas, karaoke machines, carnivals and beers; it’s friends, and French fries and lottery wins. But you know what, I’m here too. I’m here for you. I’m here for happy people too. Because there’s a little bit of me in all of us; I just hit some people harder than others. I’m here because you need me to heal. You will become hopeful, not in spite of me, but because of me. 

I’m glad I exist. Because without me, it’d be all sunshine and rainbows all the time, and there’s beauty within the storms too. There’s beauty within me. There’s a reason all of y’all weather the storm. You wouldn’t be able to do it without me! 

At the end of the day, even though I’m me more than you most of the time these days, I can’t wait to just be you again. You without me – or just a tiny little dab of me. There I said it. You win. I’ve been me but in overdrive and I miss you. 2020. Enough said. Nonetheless, you’re within reach. I just know it. So let’s agree on one thing: in sickness and in health, there’s a way to strike a balance between both of us. It’s okay for us to be friends; you’ll just always be the cooler one who looks better on Instagram. 

Your friend, 

Sadness

I consider myself an extrovert. A people-person you could say. And even so, there are times that I enter an introverted bubble. To be honest, it’s not completely by choice. It’s just that life has given my the highest of highs and the lowest of lows and I bounce back & forth – introvert to ex – in & out, in the latter most of the time, until I find a comfortable middle ground. Thank you, meds!

Covid. What a time to be alive, am I right? I’ve pushed my own pause button, partially because everything else – all of what allows my extroverted excursions to enter – is also paused or postponed. And as I walk around with my mask on, my people-person norm off, it’s really forced me to reflect on how I want to re-enter the “real world” once that long-awaited vaccine makes its way to the world.

I love meeting new people. It’s pretty much my all-time favorite hobby on the regular. In these times of covid – coinciding with a time of reflecting and recovery for myself – I found myself reconsidering how I want my favorite hobby to makes its new debut once I come out of this introvert, covid-times shell. Keep in mind: behind those masks, we don’t know the struggles and hardships that a person could be hiding.

So, here we are in this really bizarre time, in this slow-moving still beautiful time, and I found myself learning a lot… not only about myself but how I want to be a better people-meeter when I’m back in my (more-me) people-person self. The other day I found myself at a party full of strangers. This type of scene is typically the type of scene when I’m in my element. And yet, the timing is tough. So when strangers’ first ice-breaker to me was: What do you do? I froze. I read, I write, I juggle (mostly brain-enhancing tasks), I cook, I clean, I color. I know that’s not the answer they’re looking for. My brand is #awkwardMartha and let me tell you, I felt extra awkward then. Remember, we don’t know what burdens are hidden behind those masks.

What do you do? If you would’ve asked “old me” that question I would’ve been on cloud 9. My job was a part of my identity. My passion. I lacked a work-life balance though and it affected my well-being. By a lot. I found myself having to create a “new me”. What’s going to become an #awkwarderMartha, a more memorable Martha, one that’s more aware of creating healthy boundaries. And I promise my people-person self that I will never use the ice breaker question, “What do you do?” again, because not everyone’s brand is #awkward. There are so many other ice-breaker questions like: Where are you from? What do you like to do for fun these days? What are your favorite foods? Ditch the discomfort you could create for people by ditching the “What do you do?”

What do you think?

 

Chicago’s weather goes a little something like this:

• 70 degrees and sunny today.
• 32 degrees and subtle snowflakes tomorrow.
• Two days later, 61 degrees perfect for my flannel fashion [gay still, remember?]
• Three days pass, and it’s the polar vortex again, -55 degrees Fahrenheit where you could toss hot water in the air and you could be the one to make snowflakes this time.
• 23 days later, enjoy your last snow angel, because the next season is ready.
• 24th day, spring is here.

Okay, weather. I see you & feel you. But also, can you just make up your mind?

 

 

Dear Basketball,

Wow. You’re a babe. The stud of all sports you could say. At the same time, I wish I didn’t try to suck-up to every coach I ever had the pleasure to play for. ‘Cuz Lord knows I kinda suck now. Well suck is probably too strong of a word to describe someone who’s not too shabby at most sports.

But damn, something sure shattered my confidence that prevented me from becoming the player I had the potential to become. Maybe I was just shaken up too much as a child. So why do schools schedule practice literally every single day of the week instead of scattering some classroom sessions for kids teaching a class called: Learning Potential of the Player You Could One Day Become? What if a child’s parents aren’t wealthy or educated enough to afford or teach their kid how to get recruited in the first place?

I still sit and think on that one time I got caught with a copy of a gym key while playing basketball with some friends ~freshman year of high school at my elementary school gym. I can’t say that religion club was the best way to punish the kid in me when religion as a rugrat was clearly something forced on me since I wasn’t yet educated on any other religions at my Catholic grade school. This really makes me question society and the lack of freedom for students to explore, so they could eventually soar wherever their strengths lie.

So why is it that Chemistry was a strength of mine in high school, yet I was too scared to even attempt it at Yale? And why is it that Sex-Ed is only taught around 7th/8th grade in a super conservative fashion where they didn’t even touch on sex for a queer human?

So maybe it’s time to shift gears. Shake up the broken education systems. Allow those failing to recognize the shattered glass in classrooms to step down. Because students are innocently singing Miley Cyrus’ “It’s the Climb” down the hallways. Adults should securely hold a ladder in place for their children and allow their studious children to challenge their creativity – one step at a time – as they climb their way to the top.

 

 

Do you believe in magic in a young girl’s heart?

Yo, I don’t even know. Young me used to prefer the name Martha yet grown me chooses to go by Parker sometimes. But is there really anything wrong with just being Martha Parker when I didn’t even have a middle name in the first place? And maybe… just maybe, MPG could be a dope acronym people could use to call me by. I mean, if MJ could do it, why can’t MPG? Sure, MJ could play every position, but MPG – standing a loud & proud at 5”4.25ish – was a phenomenal point guard playing the same game. Call it magic if you want it, I call it whole ‘lotta heart.    🏀🧡

Happy December 26th y’all. Never have I ever thought I’d witness a December 26th in Chicago, where the sun’s blazin’ and it’s a literal 60 degrees fahrenheit outside. Yet here we are.  Good ol’ global warming – what a sexy, dangerous beast you are. 

So, obviously, the day before yesterday was December 24th and yesterday was December 25th, or what some may prefer to call “Christmas Eve” and “Christmas Day,” respectively. This year, I on the other hand, preferred to call them “Emotionally-taxing AF Days.” In an intentional effort not to re-trigger any unnecessary trauma, I won’t be diving into the ‘whys’ of that last sentence. However, I did want to give a special shoutout to my sidebraid-wearing sister, who showed me that we really don’t need Biology to form Family.  

If there’s any season that really gets my mind thinking (and perhaps over-thinking), it’s definitely the holidays. This year, I spent a ton of time thinking about what my carefully-crafted, dream Christmas would look like: 

Simplistic. Designed to include everyone, though LGBTQ+ and/or disabled a likely majority. Accessibility, needs and preferences acknowledged. a table: vegan, vegetarian, flexitarian, meat-eaters all alike. a bar cart: alcoholic and non, cheap wines, local craft brews, kiddie-cocktails, lots of bubbly beverages (i.e. LaCroix and LaChampagne). transportation talk: rides and carpools to and from, how to enter, how to navigate within. safety: driving back, getting picked up, public transit, Uber/Lyft home, an open invite for a slumber party otherwise. community creation: compassionate conversations that don’t strictly revolve around heteronormative, abled measures of success like home-ownership, fancy cars (or the ability to drive them), family, marriage, children. 

 

The invite would say something like: 

Hello, human! 🌈

You are cordially invited… 

Who: You! + any other human you know that might want to spend December 25th somewhere with a welcoming & inclusive group of folks who implicitly understand and respect each other 

What: a safe space to celebrate one another

When: December 25th, 20xx 

Where: under a radically-accepting roof @ [insert address here]

Why: do we really need a reason? 

 

If there is anything that I took away from Emotionally-taxing AF Days this year, it’s that the notion of “perfect” simply does not exist. I wholeheartedly believe that the world would be a better place if people didn’t use the term “perfect” so carelessly, and instead, consciously minimized (or even completely eliminated) the term from their vocabulary. Allow me to explain: 

All too often, people get so wound up during the holidays that they overlook the most important part of it: the chance to build (or build upon) the meaningful connection with the person(s) you’re with. Speaking from experience, I can confidently say that I could care less about spending holidays at a place that’s spotless, or has chef-quality cooking, or that’s decorated so meticulously that it’s mistaken for a Hallmark ad home. 

And this notion of “perfect is impossible” doesn’t just apply to the holidays. So many individuals spend so long looking or waiting for their “perfect person” to come around. I hate to be a dream-killer here, but there is no such thing as a perfect person. Sure, you could rationalize and reiterate that you’re dating your soulmate who is completely perfect, but guess what? When they make a mistake – even one that’s completely trivial – you’ve already convinced them that they’re perfect and therefore implied that there is zero wiggle room necessary for improvement. Dating aside, I literally cannot think of a single concept, thing, or being – tangible or intangible – that is perfect. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been equally guilty of using the word [perfect] semi-regularly myself. For example, I recently received a report back from a colleague and replied, “This is perfect!” With that response, I subconsciously meant: “I don’t see any errors.” However, I now realize that in labeling the report as ‘perfect’, I’m simultaneously omitting opportunities to challenge any concepts within it. 

Just look up and around the space you’re currently in and play the “Impossibly Perfect Game” with me: name any item you see and tell me about its imperfection(s) or defend the reason(s) why I’m wrong in my theory of perfect being impossible. 

Here’s my turn:

• Table: it’s imperfect because of its many stains, scratches and splotches 
• My phone: it’s imperfect because the speaker is broken and has a limited amount of memory space
• Pen: it’s imperfect because it runs out of ink eventually… 
• My socks: they’re imperfect because there’s a small hole already that’ll only get bigger with time 
• My water bottle: it’s imperfect because it makes water too warm in summer days and turns it into ice on winter days 

..and so on and so forth. 

The problem with “perfect” is that its application leaves zero room for error or improvement. By embracing imperfections, we can pave a way for betterment and keep learning a part of our lives.

[Breaking in a new notebook with this blog post – peep the photo].

Loving myself wholeheartedly and putting forth my whole heart into each human connection that adds value to my life is the most beautiful, most radical thing I can commit to. 

 

Two feel-good stories to share with you today:

[1]

About a year and some days ago, Katie and I decided to treat ourselves to a couple of overpriced hot chocolates from Mindy’s in Wicker Park. We both had a stressful day, and let’s be real, nothing soothes life’s stressors better than a quality venting sesh with bae (and spiked hot chocolate, obvi). The candles and dimmed, romantic ambiance of the room helped us maintain reasonably calm tones while we talked, despite the rage that was boiling on the inside. We shared some laughs, shed some tears and sighs throughout – that’s how you know the venting sesh was a good one. We finished off our luxurious hot chocolates and requested the check as the night was winding down. The waiter smiled then said, “The couple that was sitting next to you took care of your bill already. They sensed that you had a bad day and wanted you to end it on a happier note.”

Pretty sure I burst out sobbing immediately after. That was so unnecessary, yet so insanely nice of them!! I barely caught a glimpse of what the couple even looked like, and I doubt they’ll ever stumble their way to this blog post to hear how much I wish I could thank them. Wow. Human decency is still out there.

[2]

About a month ago, once again in Wicker Park, at La Colombe this time, I posted up to start my Monday morning work grind. I noticed a tiny toddler – about 3 years young – being incredibly cute while eating her blueberry yogurt…

Sidebar: It’s beyond me how kids could do literally anything and look stupid cute doing it. Literally, there is nothing cute about me chomping down my Chobani.

.. Back to the tiny toddler enjoying her yogurt. We’ll call her Yogurt Youngin’. Few minutes later, in walks another tiny toddler – roughly the same age as Yogurt Youngin’ – with her dad. It was a solid two degrees fahrenheit outside, and this tiny toddler, with no gloves on to cover her tiny toddler hands, chose to hug her fluffy toy bunny rather than hide her hands inside her jacket. We’ll call her Bunny Baby.

These two toddlers, Yogurt Youngin’ and Bunny Baby, had never met before today. Yet, within minutes, they were chasing each other around La Colombe until Bunny Baby’s dad said it was time for them to go. As Bunny Baby walked out, Yogurt Youngin’ burst into tears and waved the saddest goodbye I ever had the pleasure to witness. Wow. That made my heart so warm. It took literally nothing for these two innocent toddler souls to warm up to each other. I started some small talk with Yogurt Youngin’s mom, telling her how all of us can restore any inklings of doubt we have in human decency by just watching today’s kids. That day got me thinking: why is it that, as adults, our instincts are to immediately ignore or avoid strangers while kids’ [instincts] are to find ways to connect and form friendships?

—

Seriously though, we walk the streets of this world with our heads down and headphones in, sometimes without anything even playing but with the comfort of knowing that those around you will assume you can’t hear them. We need to stop ignoring and start loving people with a depth and richness we have never loved before. It’s crazy to avoid loving someone just because you don’t agree with them — whether that be their mayoral vote, their $1000 Canada Goose jacket, or the bar they walk into. At the end of the day, aren’t we all just a bunch of walking contradictions in some way, shape, or form anyway?

The main takeaway is this:  We need to let go of our instincts of judgement and ignorance, and we need to replace them with love and intentional acts of kindness that will bring more joy into this world. Even if it’s not easy. Even if it’s something you disagree with. Even if it’s something that makes you uncomfortable. It’s something that’s a choice.

Swipe someone onto the subway. Tip your server a little extra. Buy that coworker that has been driving you crazy a cup of coffee. Reconnect with the homeless even if you don’t have a dollar to give; just take your earbuds out and say hello.

Do all of these things, even if you think they don’t deserve it.

My goals for the near future are two-fold: 

1. Enrich connections with the people I love by loving harder while remaining raw in my intentions to do so.
2. Find small acts of kindness each day that’ll make a stranger smile.

—

My mind has felt like a marathon lately, racing more than ever. With that, I remind myself that spring is here and the sun is at least attempting to realize that Chicago is a safe place for it to stay. That alone gives me reason and energy to smile more and to be a nicer person.

Loving people is going to cost you something you value, maybe even your own beliefs. But if you choose to love harder and connect deeper, it’ll be worth the sacrifice. I promise.

Yours truly,

a daughter, not seeking agreement nor approval,  just love ♥

---

Today’s Thanksgiving.

Wow.

You would think that I would’ve taken the hint to set the watches I wear every day to actually read the right time by now. But I haven’t yet; I still wear my watches as if I’m actually capable of creating some sort of fashion statement. With that, I walk around with zero sense of time and how quickly it actually flies.

Today, I want to [1] take the time to share one of the greatest lessons I took so deeply to heart and [2] to highlight the people and the things I’ve been especially grateful for this year.

The Great Lesson:

This past April, I flew out to Yale’s Inaugural First-Generation Conference. That was actually my first time returning to campus since graduating, and the entire experience felt incredibly special. I made myself completely vulnerable. I felt validated. My voice mattered; it mattered to me and to those around me. I listened to other alumni so attentively; I never knew I related so much to so many of them.

I ran into a former colleague at the conference, Roselyn,  who was also one of my very first friends at Yale. One of the things she said at the conference resonates with me to this day. She simply said: “It’s okay to live life according to your own timeline.”

I loved hearing that. I think I needed to hear that. I needed to hear that it was okay that I aimlessly accepted my first low-ball salary offer post-college, because it was already more money than my family ever knew. I needed to hear everyone’s story that I did to be assured I wasn’t alone.

I’m living life by my own timeline and not comparing it to anyone else’s.  I also do not care to follow any traditional track, such as being married by 30, then having kids, then settling, etc.  I had to start from a blank slate of sorts after college. I made some risky decisions since then. I made several mistakes since then too. And here I am now, 25 years young and still learning from them.

I’m glad that this lesson stuck with me.  Coming from so little makes me realize I have a lot to be grateful for, especially the trivial things. I’d like to reflect on a select few:

—-

I’m grateful for…

My brother.

I have one sibling and one sibling only – my big brother, Matt. He may live too far for my liking, but I love the life he leads in London now (even though I have yet to witness it first-hand). I‘m grateful that he jumped on the opportunity to study abroad in Italy for a full year in college. Since that experience, I knew it was just a matter of time until he would be living outside the US. He’s always been the more exceptional academic of us two and will always be the better cook. He recently started what I’ll call a passion project for now, and it’s really cool to see his talents come to light. I can’t wait for him to come home next month, to splurge on several SoulCycle rides with him, and to send him off so that he could go welcome SoulCycle London with open arms.

My parents.

There’s still a lot of imperfections in my relationship with my parents. But at the end of the day, I owe them more credit than I actually show. Parenting is hard, man. It’s a responsibility I won’t be ready for any time soon. And even when I am ready, I will likely never relate to the rife of hardship my parents faced. They left literally everything they had in Poland in search of a better life for their unborn children. They were so selfless in doing so. I’m grateful and forever indebted to their sacrifices and the opportunities their sacrifices allowed us. Life threw my family a curveball when my dad became disabled when my brother and I were still very young. To this day, my mom works countless hours at her labor-intensive job, with me and Matt in mind. My dad prays his heart out, wishing he could contribute so much more. Life has its ways. And while it’s easy enough to dwell on the “whys” and “what ifs,” I’d rather soak in the moments. Growing up, I would wake up as early as 4am and head to our living room to study until it was time to head to school. Here I am right now, typing away in that same living room I grew up in.

My friends.

I don’t need to name them because they already know. My friends have been my greatest anchor through the years. They are the biggest reason why the mere thought of leaving Chicago would be so hard. It’s been amazing to welcome more and more friends – new and old – into our ever-expanding friend circle. I won’t lie, I really miss my friends that aren’t in Chicago, especially those that are no longer a hallway down from me like we were in college. I’m still thankful for each of them, and I really need to commit to doing a better job of keeping in touch more than I have. I hate to sound bias in saying that I have the best friends, but I really, really do.

Katie.

Katie has now nearly survived an entire calendar year as my side-kick. She’s seen me in my happiest times, in my sobbing times, in my venting times, in my too-energetic-for-mornings times, and in the why-aren’t-you-overly-chipper-when-it’s-morning-should-I-be-concerned times. My friends sometimes give her the, “I can’t believe you put up with Martha.” And frankly, I can’t believe it either. Take a pretty girl like her and it’s pretty easy to see that I’m the one that lucked out here. She procrastinates hard, but works so much harder. She sees everything through the most logical lens and makes it look easy. I feel like I learn by just listening to her talk. I love living the grad school life vicariously through hers. I can’t wait to see her graduate and to see all the amazing things she will do next. She’s great, and I’m so, so grateful for her.  

Basketball.

I don’t hold perfect attendance at my rec league, and I’m not nearly as good as I used to be or could’ve been. But I’m still grateful for the sport that provided me a sense of purpose growing up. It taught me about good sportsmanship, about leadership, and about teamwork. It sounds silly to say that I credit much of my hard work ethic to the sport, but I think life would’ve been a hell lot different without it. A basketball is probably the only inanimate object that can automatically bring a smile to my face. Basketball connected so many of my close friendships. What a sport. What a game. Thank you, basketball.

___

This is just a short list, but in the end, I have so much to be grateful for. After this week, I start my new job at CAULIPOWER, and I have a really good feeling about it. I have a good feeling about the position, about the products, about the brand, and about the seemingly BA CEO.

On that note, I’m ready to consume more calories than my body is prepared for today. And as 2019 creeps up, I’ll be ready to restart all the fitness resolutions I so predictably do every year.

Crank up the microwave, Mom – I’m ready for the turkey.

It’s fall as fuck today.

Summer slipped away and I’m stoked. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate summer – it’s just not my favorite. Somehow summer for me has always been the season that I’m never quite ready for; that bikini bod that never quite toned, those ghostly white legs that never quite tanned, the profusive sweat everywhere after literally standing still for two minutes, the white shorts that are impossible to pull off without a tide-to-go pen on hand at all times. Yeah, yeah, yeah.. I’m going to miss the refreshing taste of watermelon, but fall is my fucking favorite. And here’s why:

1. Don’t tell me that you go through all of fall without caving to buy a single pumpkin spice latte. Let’s face it, there’s a little bit of basic betch in all of us. It’s fall.. FLAUNT IT.

2. The leaves are perfect. They’re perfectly colorful and perfectly crunchy and I just want to jump in a pile of them and make leaf angels. The crunch of a fall leaf is comparable to the soothing sound of bubble wrap. Hot damn, Mother Nature, you leaf me in awe once again.

3. I could wear all the flannel I want and it doesn’t even have to be Flannel Friday at Mary’s Attic. On that note, can someone please explain to me why wearing flannel comes with a lesbian implication during any other season? I’m curious, but also, don’t care. Apparently in the fall there’s more lesbians walking around everywhere!

4. I hate horror films and spooky shit, but fall is the one time of the year that I’ll actually go out of my way to shit my pants at the haunted corn mazes of Indiana. And you know what? I’m no longer wearing white pants so that shit doesn’t even matter!

5. Fall brings endless date options. Romantic dates. Friend dates. Family dates. Coworker-bonding dates. Pet dates. Me-day dates. Let’s be real, summer festivals are all basically the same, just on different streets every weekend. Farmers markets are basically the same food, just at different price points. And beach dates aren’t exactly my idea of a quality date. To be completely frank, I actually don’t even like the beach, and it doesn’t have anything to do with my unready beach bod: walking on the sidewalk and sand that feel like lava, being overly careful not to fall asleep because you have to flip over every 10 to 12 minutes, jumping into the water that everyone pees in, running out of the water to feel like the temperature suddenly dropped at least 30 degrees, and finding sand on parts of your body that were never exposed to it in the first place, even three days later. A lot of people love the beach. I would even say most people do, and I completely respect those people’s opinion. I’m just not the beaches’ biggest fan, tbh.

Back to fall dates though.. you could visit all the apple orchards you want (aka more road trips), you could pick the plumpiest of pumpkins and get artsy carving them, you could eat all the cider donuts and sip those pumpkin spice lattes with zero shame. Literally take advantage of all the fall dates this fall, y’all. You might actually fall in love; if not with a significant other, then maybe more with yourself.

6. I already recognize that I’m naturally awkward. I will never be confident enough to feel like the coolest kid on the block. Nonetheless, with my fall boots, the layers, the crew-neck sweaters, the fall-colored jackets, you best believe I inch my way up the swag scale more than ever.

—

So let’s face it, fall is a fucking babe; the stud of the seasons you could say. And for anyone who disagrees, feel free to come shovel my sidewalk all winter long when it’ll take pulling me by my ankles to step foot outside.

Happy fall, everyone!

Much love,

Martha

When I was about 14-years old, I thought my future was doomed after I was caught with a copy of a key to my elementary school’s basketball court. I was a little hooper with WNBA hoopin’ dreams.

__

My blog has been quiet for a while now. I’m not one for excuses, though I hope you’ll spare me some slack this time around; we were in the heat of Pride season after all. The last few months was time for me to appreciate, to reflect, to celebrate, and to love to the best of my ability.

It’s comical how people so easily assume that an Ivy League education is supposed to automatically translate into hefty paychecks. And sure, for many, it could, it does, or it probably will at some point.

I took an interesting leap of faith recently by leaving the financial advising industry my last blog post referenced. I’m still unsure whether I’ll ever come to regret foregoing the staggering income potential those (mostly cis straight white men) advisors earn in that office. However, I decided to reprioritize the things I value most in a career, and in the end, I realized it wasn’t the paychecks.

I left a job that expected me to qualify people by their monetary worth. While it works for some people, I couldn’t shake the ongoing discomfort; I value my teacher friends just as much as my Harvard Med School friends. I sat each day on my laptop, glued to my LinkedIn. I created custom filters in order to generate a list of connections that had the most profitable assets. I obsessively filtered, and filtered some more, until eventually I realized that I was simultaneously ignoring my greatest asset.

I’m really far from perfect, but I only ever mean well. I’ll do what it takes to give the people in my life I love the world, and I’ll seek out ways to leave an impact in my community. I never admitted to being a FirstGen student at Yale, though I never really felt the need to; the community surrounding me was exceptionally inclusive. Eternally grateful and undeniably dependent on the generous financial aid, I did okay in the classrooms, but I thrived when it came to finding ways to bring people together. That campus felt like a playground, and I couldn’t have asked for a better or more stimulating 4(.5) years. Attending the Inaugural FirstGen Conference at Yale this past April played a huge factor in helping me reprioritize what I value most, and hence, in making the decision to leave my last job.

I think back to me as the 14-year old kid on the basketball court quite often. I never had ill- intentions by making a copy of the gym key. I wasn’t hosting parties or doing any drugs there; I was literally taking 500+ shots on the regular, shagging after my own rebounds, and hoping someone in the big leagues would notice me one day.

Evidently, my hoop dreams didn’t take me too far, but I’d say I’ve come a pretty long way since then. I took this cringe-worthy risk of quitting full-time job security to work (technically part-time) with KIND. Naturally, the work doesn’t feel like work, and it brings great joy and sense of reward into my life. I’m challenged to be creative, to spread kindness, to encourage good health, and to advocate for more love in our city. I know the position won’t fly long term, but at least for now, I’m flying on cloud nine until further notice.

Yes, my 401K looks just as depressing as it did a year ago (the former financial advisor in me would be so ashamed). Nevertheless, I have this stupid dorky smile permanently glued to my face lately, and with it, I feel worth a billion bucks.

So I don’t usually do this, but I want to end by presenting you with a little challenge: do something that takes you out of your comfort zone. Enroll in that class you’ve always been intimidated by, apply for that job that seems far-fetched, ask that person out you think is out of your league. Take a leap that scares you; find a new happiness.

My greatest asset, by the way: my heart. 💙