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. 💙

I work in financial planning because it’s interesting and actually important. It is also an industry that doesn’t get talked about all that often, and it is not the booth at the career fair that students run towards first.

I’m not going to lie, it’s been quite a roller-coaster of emotions since I’ve gotten there. Though this isn’t intended to be a diary entry of my feelings, I want to address a few of them and where they stem from.

Happiness:

• Happy that I found myself working in financial planning – or perhaps that the field found me
• Happy to have the co-workers that I do

Frustration:

• Frustrated with the lack of diversity and clarity of growth path
• Frustrated with the gender and salary divides

Eagerness:

• Eager to make an impact somehow
• Eager to learn more about the industry, the organization and the motives of each one

Before I get to elaborating, it’s important to know a few facts and statistics for context:

Women remain largely underrepresented in the financial advice industry, and the gender divide has hardly shrunk even in recent years.

Source: Certified Financial Planner Board of Standards, “CFP Professional Demographics,” as of 9/2017

According to a report released by the Institute of Women’s Policy Research, women’s median earnings are smaller than that of men’s in nearly all occupations. Researchers from the Bureau of Labor Statistics analyzed 120 occupations in their study. They found that the occupations with the lowest pay had the smallest wage gaps and vice versa for those of the highest paid occupations. The widest gender pay gap of all 120 occupations was found to be among female financial advisors.

Going off of my imperfect photographic memory, as it stands, the office I work in has about:

• 11 full-time male financial advisors (not including the two recently announced new hires, also both male)
• Zero full-time female financial advisors
• 5 full-time male support staff (each working in different capacities)
• 23 full-time female support staff (each working in different capacities)

I welcome all and any thoughts, though I don’t think it requires much thought to recognize what’s wrong with those distributions. Ethnic diversity is also lagging; I can’t speak for everyone’s background, though the population of the office is predominantly white by a large margin.

For over a full year, I walked to make copies in the printer room, where I glanced at the displayed board of all the financial advisors in our office. There has yet to be a single woman making an appearance on that board, for over a full year. I remember as a little kid, I would watch WNBA games and I could just picture myself playing on that basketball court one day. Well, here I was, a pretty big kid now, and I could just see myself on that board in the printer room. Trust me, I’ve played ball with the boys growing up, and joining the “boys club” of financial advisors wasn’t going to intimidate me either. In fact, I was eager to dent the diversity of it, and for what it’s worth, I’d be thrilled to wear my bowtie to fit in with everyone else’s look.

Reality check: the Future is Female.

There’s only so much I could do and say right now to empower others to recognize the evident need for action. However, I could encourage everyone – not just those in the financial planning industry – to use the magnificent power of their individual voices to speak up if something (read: anything) feels off in your workplace. For example, in a recent conversation, I had to address why it was okay for me to discuss my salary with my colleagues. No one is walking around taking surveys of everyone’s salaries, but is important for employers to know that pay secrecy and even merely discouraging salary discussions is illegal. I, as a queer woman working in a male-dominated industry, have every right to know how my salary stacks up against my counterparts, especially when our duties greatly mirror one another’s and the biggest factor differentiating our salaries has to do with our separate advisors.

It’s really cool to have a focus and it’s really cool to have that focus become your forte. I have no idea where my future is going to take me, so for the time-being, the financial planning industry is my focus. There’s always the option to steady cruise through a career; you can hit the bare minimums and you can learn the basics to get by. Or you can challenge yourself beyond that.

You can learn the ins and outs of your company and the industry until you know it as well as the back of your hand. Only you get to decide the extent of your involvement. You can become an expert by learning the roles and rules and policies and regulations of not just your position. If you have people working for you, you can listen to learn what matters to them and what motivates them. If you work for someone, you can learn what you can do to maximize your impact and soar beyond the goals you are working towards. You can read relevant news and see what the competitors are doing. The resources are at our fingertips; most of us can pull up a Google search box within ten seconds. What isn’t at our fingertips? The inner drive to go beyond those bare minimum marks.

When’s the last time someone in your office read your company’s Glassdoor reviews? When’s the last time someone in your office took what employees have written in those reviews to heart? When’s the last time an employer checked where today’s market values lie? When’s the last time you as an employee, checked your own worth? When’s the last time someone took the time to address and implement necessary changes?

Consider those questions rhetorical if you choose. I sure as heck am not. I don’t want those questions to remain rhetorical because my curiosity has recently overpowered my prolonged silence.

I don’t know what change in the financial planning industry looks like, I just know that it’s needed. I don’t yet know who to talk to or where to get involved to address the really important matters either. It’s funny, it’s sad, it’s unfortunate that I have yet to find a person in the office that I can comfortably confide in that could point me in some direction to have my voice heard. I’m very vocal, pretty personable, arguably amicable among my colleagues. Don’t get me wrong, my coworkers are well-aware of what I care deeply about; they have consistently been unfailing kind, loyal, respectful, and supportive of my voices and choices. I promise you, finding a person to confide in has nothing to do with my colleagues; it has to do with the fact that as it stands, there are zero female financial advisors walking around that office. Please note: that statement does not speak for the industry or the organization at large, both of which have seen positive strides forward. Regardless, even with those positive strides, it is not yet enough. I intend to be involved until more profound changes regarding inclusivity and diversity are implemented. Enough is enough: the financial advising industry is in desperate need of improving its diversity and enforcing pay equity. We need to rid the discomfort I feel just thinking about walking into work wearing a bowtie.

Sources:

http://www.investmentnews.com/article/20171120/FREE/171129993/change-is-slow-when-it-comes-to-gender-diversity-at-independent

http://www.investmentnews.com/article/20170319/FREE/170319932/discrimination-against-women-advisers-via-harsher-punishment-must

https://global.spdrs.com/blog/post/2018/jan/more-than-a-diversity-target-women-in-advice.html

http://www.investmentnews.com/article/20180109/BLOG18/180109938/misperceptions-about-the-financial-advice-industry-are-stalling

There has been another school shooting today, this time at a high school in Maryland. I’m posting this before any of the extremities of the incidence have been announced.

Another day, another shooting.

We’re a few short days away from March for our Lives.

Finally, students taking action and standing up for what higher authorities are not.

#NeverAgain

Trend it, trend it, trend it. Trend that shit until #NeverAgain holds true, because here we are, again. It’s worse than a nightmare at this point; it’s like terrible deja-vu that won’t stop repeating itself.

I’m lost for words, but I’d be doing the world a disservice if I did not encourage everyone to stand up and speak up for what they believe in.

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Arguably the most uplifting spirit in Yale’s history, Schuyler Arakawa, is currently speaking out to make traveling via planes accessible for those in wheelchairs. Take women like Schuyler as an example of impactful individuals standing up to fight for necessary changes.

I’m taking a 5-minute break from work to blog, because I need the mental health break. I myself am recently so tired of higher authorities thinking they know it all. I’m also tired of channeling my anger by only talking to my therapist about it.

It’s time to channel important matters to the world. In the words of Schuyler, “If you want to positively impact everyone in the world, you have to reach everyone in the world.”

I’m rather aggravated today, so I would just like to start off by saying “f*ck you” to the person(s) who decided it was some sort of a bright idea to assign gender to legit almost everything.

Let’s go through some [unreasonable] examples.

Why do we assign gender to scents?

Can someone please educate me as to who or where the Professional Sniffers of our world are that are handed a certain scent, sniff it, and then decide either (a) yep, this scent must be for women and hence, we shall call it perfume, or (b) yep, this scent must be for men, and hence, we shall call it cologne. Someone please direct me to wherever or whoever these Professional Sniffers are so that I can knock ‘em out silly. Because God forbid the man who wants to smell like a fresh cherry blossom or the woman who enjoys the smell of a cologne she picked out one day. And fine, let’s just assume that we are all heteronormative assholes for a moment. Women, if y’all are gonna drool over your boyfriend because he smells so.damn.fine, why don’t you buy that cologne, use it, and then smell, brag, and enjoy the scent on yourself instead?!! Or vice versa: men, if you enjoy that flowery smell of your girlfriend’s perfume, just go buy it for yourself and save yourself the expense of your ever-so-original idea of gifting your woman flowers next time, because you could already smell flowery yourself. And also, smelling (read: sniffing) other people is weird.

Dear Professional Sniffers: (1) come out, come out, wherever you are…. (2) quit labeling scents as male vs female, cologne vs perfume respectively. K? Thx.

Leave it to the purchasers of the fragrances to decide what they want to smell like instead of to the Professional Sniffers to decide which scent should be restricted to which gender. UGH.

Next, why do all stores have to label sections as men’s vs. women’s?

Real talk and suggestion: why don’t we stop separating clothing sections by men’s vs. women’s (plus it is especially unfair for our gender non-conforming friends and family) and instead, let’s find less discriminating labels (i.e formal-wear, athletic, summery section, cool & casual, dresses, tops, jeans etc etc)?

Let’s talk through some, once again, [unreasonable] examples.

Bow ties are a pretty shnazzy form of attire. A person hears “bow tie “ and “woman” used in the same context. As closed-minded assholes, we jump to conclude: the woman is placing bow tie into her hair, because that’s what girls do. Flipping genders, a person hears “bow tie” and “man” used in the same context. As closed-minded assholes, we jump to conclude: the man is placing bow tie onto his shirt. And again, God forbid the woman who slaps on a slick-ass bow tie onto her shirt, or the man who slicks his hair back with one.

Side note: RIP to the shirts that I have blind-sidedly lost for having boy button-ups, simply because the buttons were “on the wrong side.” Again, who the f*ck said there must be a right vs wrong, women vs men side to buttons? Are you people hearing how ridiculous you sound right now?! Be thankful that I choose to utilize every last one of those buttons in the first place, because I think it’d be more alarming if I wore a shirt revealing my cleavage the entire time..

Next, let’s talk babies for a second, because they’re so cute, so cuddly, and so innocent.

Baby blue has been my favorite color for as long as I can remember, and anyone who knows me even just reasonably well, already knows that. Flipping back through my baby albums, do you think there’s a single picture of me flaunting my favorite baby blue clothing that illuminates my florescent blue eyes? NO, there isn’t. You know why? Because baby blue is for baby boys. LOL okay, pardon me; I didn’t recognize that colors are restricted to specific genders too.

Or like, why do boys get boats and firetrucks, and girls get dolls and Minnie Mouse? Is it that sinful that a baby girl also enjoys boat rides or aspires to grow up to be a brave soul that saves lives from burning buildings one day? Is it really fair to shame a baby boy that maybe aspires to become a hair dresser one day ever since practicing on dolls since young age or was drawn to the lady Mouse maybe because he’s attracted to ladies or maybe, just maybe, he just wants to slap a pretty bow tie into his hair like Minnie does.

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Honestly, open your eyes, people. It’s 2018 and this is sad.

I saw Andrea Gibson at Thalia Hall last night, and yo – I am SHOOK (™ k.e.p.).

Bouncing from topics of love, to fascism, to radical self-love, back to love, back to fascist fucks…

It was spoken word so beautifully spoken among a crowd of such beautiful people; I locked hands with the most beautiful one. The laughs, the claps, the snaps, the tears, the chills down my arms no longer from the flu but from hearing the ridiculously profound, the perfectly-crafted, the deeply moving words shared with a group of essentially strangers, though actually family. It all felt so strangely safe, so wonderfully assuring.

This is going to be short and sweet, because apparently blogging doesn’t fall under the realms of my job duties (though I think it should).

I recently realized that there are so many humans out there that so bravely share their feels, their stories, their art, their talents somewhere. I give mad props and have mad respect for each of those humans willing to share with people they may have not spoken a word to before.

Andrea Gibson gave an immensely powerful performance, and I want to attend more. I’m welcoming and looking for recs that will introduce me to other similarly fierce, fearless humans out there. Tell me about the artists that move you, the gigs that make you laugh your ass off, the musicians that bring tears to your eyes, the shows that make you want to hold the ones you care about a little closer, etc etc.

Much love this Monday,

Martha