Sewing Seeds for 2019
Some say the real 2019 beings on January 5, 2019, with the New Moon. Which is quite comforting, since I spent the first four days of the year in bed with the flu. This year, in what so many are calling a “transformational year,” I plan to explore my next steps. I hope you will join me on this romp.
It’s hard to grow and explore in the digital age. As we are pushed to define, brand, and worm our way into our super-specific-micro-niche-destined-to-make-us-instagram-famous, this leaves no room for exploration. We are who we present ourselves to be. Once the cat is out of the internet meme bag, we are what we post.
Now, one could argue there is no need to conform to the digital age, but once a millennial, always a millennial, I say. In a time when IRL connection becomes more and more difficult with our schedules, the distance between friends, and the need for alone time, being digital makes sense.
There is the thrill, commitment, and “realness” to saying “hey internet, this is me.” There is no take backies. Our photos, tweets, and embarrassing wall comments on our show crush’s Facebook wall will exist until the end of digital time. The digital age asks us to commit, so we do.
But in an age that discourages exploration, we are left wading through the “could have beens.” Instead of breaking out of who we’ve evolved into/defined our selves as/let others mold us to be/ we continue to cultivate this version of ourselves. We give up on possibilities. Other lines of work become pipe dreams. Moving cities is too scary. We are bogged down the logistics, finances, and the rules of society we’re led to believe are true. You need to go back to school. You can’t go back to school it’s too expensive. You will never be able to afford a house on that income. It’s too hard to break out of your industry. A job is a job, does anyone really love theirs? These phrases bounce around our tired brains like the annoying music boxes our grandmothers gave us for Christmas when all we wanted was a four speed bike so we could get the hell out of our small town lives and explore what the world has to offer.
Now, some of us don’t live in these boxes. We’ve broken free. And we’re now the stuff of internet envy. Traveling the world. Working online. Living the “digital nomad” life. What even is a digital nomad? And in twenty years will you be proud to call yourself one?
Perhaps, the real problem is our need to label. The drive to define. The want to say “I am ____.” as opposed to just saying, “I am.”
For 2019, I’m sewing three seeds of exploration for myself and my future.
Writing. I don’t talk much about writing for two reasons. 1. I am frustrated by the disconnect between my words being well received and feeling like no one will every hear my voice. I throw really attractive tantrums in my head every day. “Why does no one read my wooooords? Why am I not publiiiiiished,” and “don’t you dare feed me another compliment if you’re not going to share my post on your feed.” It’s an ugly place, the writer’s ego. I wouldn’t recommend a visit. 2. Convolution around writing exhausts me. It’s a niche skill and a gift, eye roll emoji. It is hard (only when I don’t know what to say). And it’s nearly impossible to make it as a writer, what does that even mean? This year, I sew this seed: my voice is heard and shared among my generation. And the only way to water that goal is to write. So, this year, that is what I will do. Perhaps with less convention (shameless plugs for my novela length instagram posts) and with more honesty. This blog will be less about making evergreen-content-posts-that-help-other-people-because-they-click-on-a-stupid-Pinterest-graphic, and more about me. Because the former is a waste of cloud space. Maybe nobody wants to read about my new crush on the juice peddler at Urban Remedy who has the same name as my Whole Foods Boyfriend and thinks my scarf is cute, or maybe they do. There is only one way to find out.
Sorting out our relationship with food. It is no secret my relationship with food is about as fucked up as my love life. There are many scapegoats I could blame. Antibiotics. Leaky Gut. Prediabetes (thanks Mom), but I know the real blame falls to me, and the gap that has grown between humans and our food. This year I’m sewing the seed: food connects us to the earth and guides us to health. I want to explore how we can reconnect to the earth without it feeling like work. There’s no space for another to-do or more convoluted self-care that brings more anxiety than it heals. But we so desperately need to return home to what nourishes us. I want to know other people’s food stories, and how, collectively we can combat the fear that exists around food. This involves getting over my extreme anxiety around grocery stores, especially Berkeley Bowl, and getting to the psychological and spiritual root of food allergies.
After recovering from Lyme in less than conventional ways, the reality of health (that tried to get my attention time and time again) become clear. We are the ones who know how to heal ourselves. But, doctors are the wizards and witches modern mythology has crowned gods, so we continue to seek help outside of ourselves, and ignore the gnawing in our bellies. In 2018, I started seeing clients for mind/body medicine. It’s a combination of biology, anatomy, quantum physics, intuitive healthcare, and plain old talk therapy. It’s encompasses modalities that helped me heal, and have worked for countless others. The “problem” in this version of myself is two-fold. 1. This is so far from who I’ve presented myself to be the last 30 years that it may appear like I’ve had a psychotic break/joined a cult/found Jesus. (No offense to those who have had these experiences, you do you, boo.) None of these things are true. It’s just called waking up, and it’s finally happened. 2. Selling myself as a guide/healer/woo-woo human is still uncomfortable. I’m not sure who I am to guide anyone, despite the fact I’ve overcome a disease that people don’t get better from. Talking about these things—energy, spirituality, the colors outside the lines of being human is not easy. In fact, it makes me wildly uncomfortable in nearly every situation. But I’ve come around to the fact that it is clearly part of what I’m supposed to do in this life. So this year, I’m sewing the seed, I guide my generation back to the answers they hold within. Because we don’t have to be miserable. Our bodies and spirits are trying to tell us things every second and if we just took a pause from our insta-feeds for a hot second we might hear the answers. We can heal on individual levels, and that will lead us to healing on a global level, which needs to happen, stat. In an effort to water these seeds, I seek to take on more clients in 2019. Anyone looking to overcome their fears, health problems, or maybe get a little closer to hearing what they really have to say. Interested? Hit me up. Or if you just want to talk about the potential and possibility of what it means to be human, let’s chat. I also seek to be more open in this exploration, because the more open I am, the more open you will be too.
Now, I will plant some literal seeds, that may or may not grow—my thumbs are not as green as they used to be. Beneath those seeds, I will bury each statement, light a candle, and pretend that this is Practical Magic, but instead of Aiden Quinn showing up at my doorstep, one, two, or three of these seeds will grow into something magical. (And if an Aiden Quinn look alike or any eligible young bachelors show up in the process, that is cool too.) Or, maybe these seeds won’t grow into anything and this will all have been another crazy-wacky-experimental year being human. Who knows?
In 2019, It’s hard to break out of the mold we’ve poured ourselves in.
I feel this every day I age further and further out of being the quirky-cute costume girl who wears short shorts and cowboy boots. While there is still the spirit of that boy-crazy-booze-crazy-boot-crazy twenty-two year old girl trapped somewhere in my body, there’s a lot more I have to offer now, and a lot more I’d like to be.
What about you?