The Hanged Man and The Fool

I’ve been trying to get into meditation. That’s no easy feat for me, considering my own psychiatrist admitted I had one of the worst cases of ADHD she’d even seen. But I’ve found certain tools get me into “the zone,” like breathing exercises, yoga, and my personal favorite, tarot.

Tarot is widely used for divination, which is a fancy word for telling the future. I don’t really use it for that purpose much, considering my belief that we create our own futures for the most part. Instead, I use it to gain new perspectives on problems I’m facing and focus in on what I need to work on at the time. It’s a bit like shuffling between 78 tiny therapists, each with their own wisdom, and somehow, the right ones always get pulled whenever I need them.

Usually, I only draw two or three cards, typically a “something to embrace, something to let go of.” But every now and then, I like to use a more intricate spread to really take inventory on how I’m feeling. So yesterday, I got out my gold-plated Art Nouveau cards and tried my first Celtic cross spread. The results were, well, really eerie.

What immediately struck me was the fact that there were only two major arcana cards pulled — the first and the last. The current situation, and the likely outcome. The hanged man, and the fool.

The hanged man is said to appear when you’re at a standstill. He’s literally suspended, and at the moment, I feel like my life has been suspended. As of writing, I’m still waiting to hear back about whether or not I got the internship I really wanted. Should I get it, I will be starting in February, which feels like an impossibly long time from now. Should I not get it, I’ll be back at square one with a different internship, one that will start even later into the next year. Meanwhile, all my friends are already finishing their internships and getting their degrees.

I feel like the hanged man. I feel stuck.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever make it through this program. It feels like nothing is progressing, nothing is changing. Funnily enough, the “hopes and fears” card I drew was the ten of swords, a card that symbolizes death more so than the actual death card. Which is the overarching fear, I believe. I’m gonna die before I accomplish everything I want to do, and every second that passes that I don’t have an internship is another second my eventual masters and doctoral degree.

I’d like to think there’s a silver lining, that the fool symbolizes something greater to come. The fool is said to represent new adventures, so maybe once all is said and done, I’ll get to start anew with a career in music therapy. Or maybe my new adventure is something completely different, as much as I loathe the idea that all of this was for naught.

Another one of the lessons of the hanged man is surrender, letting go and trusting that everything will work out for the best. I’ve talked a little about this recently. Well, a lot about this recently. It’s kind of the biggest thing on my mind right now. And it will be until this stupid internship is finally over.

I’m ready for the fool’s journey, whatever it may be. I’m over feeling stuck.

When Will My Life Begin?

I was a senior in high school when Tangled burst into theatres, ushering in a new generation of princesses with uncannily large eyes. Out of all the Disney royals old and new, though, Rapunzel stuck with me as the most “me” of the bunch. We were the same age, and I was significantly blonder and more optimistic at the time, to be fair.

I couldn’t recreate this photo if I tried.

Almost every Disney movie has its “I want” song, and Tangled is no exception. In “When Will My Life Begin,” Rapunzel sings of wanting more from life while performing a variety of mundane tasks. (Which is incidentally how I spend my Saturdays as well.)

How she doesn’t get paint in her hair is the real miracle.

Despite no longer being an eighteen-year-old blonde ingenue like Rapunzel, a lot of days, I still feel like her in this scene. I feel like I’m always in a hurry to reach whatever is next, like I’m never content with where I am in life. Like I’m always waiting for my life to truly begin.

When I was living in the dorms at my university, I felt like I’d be a real adult when I had my own apartment. When I didn’t drive, I felt like I’d be a real adult once I got a car. When I was single, I felt like I’d be a real adult once I had a partner I lived with, or better yet, got married. Now I feel like I’d be a real adult if only I could finish this degree and get a “big girl” job. It’s a vicious cycle of needing more and more to feel “adulty” enough. I’m gonna be a grandma and still not feel like I’ve “made it” as an adult.

In the meantime, I feel like I’m in this neverending state of limbo, caught somewhere between being a girl and a grown woman. I’m always waiting for that next step. I’m never content in whatever stage of life I’m in, which isn’t a good thing, considering the last time I was in a hurry to “grow up,” I got myself into a marriage I knew wasn’t right for me.

There’s something to be said about enjoying the life you’re living now instead of longing for the future (or the past, for that matter). Those little mundane moments will be a memory someday, and maybe you’ll miss those trips to the laundromat when you finally get a house with its own washer and dryer. Maybe you’ll miss studying for exams at your favorite coffeeshop after you graduate. With every new step in life comes more responsibilities, and I know I’ll miss the carefree days im enjoying now once I have kids, even though I want them more than anything.

There’s no such thing as “waiting” for your life to begin. It’s already happening all around you. Savor what you have now, and trust that everything will work itself out. You’ve got your entire life to grow up, so put your hands up and enjoy the ride.

In Search of the Promised Land

This weekend, I’m on a pilgrimage to a faraway land with my wife, Crass.

(Well, two hours away. Which isn’t that far away when you live in the Midwest.)

Kalamazoo, which I swear to God is the name of a real place in Michigan, has been kind to us so far. We decided to travel here for one specific reason — to daydream together about our future lives. Should everything go as planned, this will be our home in the next few years. And I mean, it’s a pretty charming place.

Kalamazoo is, among many other things, home to the only music therapy graduate program in the state. It’s also halfway between Detroit and South Bend, IN, where my girlfriend, Olivia, lives. And when we have Cadence down the road, the Kalamazoo Promise will ensure she gets a free ride to college.

I’m squirming with excitement as I write this from our hotel room. As we passed tattoo shop after tattoo shop, Crass imagined applying for an apprenticeship at one. Walking through the nature preserve in the neighboring city of Portage, we talked about how we’d take our future dog on walks there someday. (The dog would be a Shiba Inu named Sprinkles, natch.) We added so many restaurants to our list of places to try once we move out here, and every thirty seconds or so, I would point out a house — “THAT’S THE ONE!”

I think it’s important to have a healthy sense of what’s realistic when planning for the future, but I also think it’s important to leave a little room to dream. When I was in college, I used to ride my bike through the cute little apartment complex near the ugly dorms I lived in at the time. I wondered what it would be like to have a significant other I lived with in an apartment like that, and maybe a cat. I would dream about writing stuff while lounging on my “corner couch” — the word I used for “sectional” growing up, and the true marker of adult success in my developing brain.

I didn’t get to live in those apartments, but I live somewhere even nicer now, with a cat and my wife. I get to write a personal blog that seems to have a small but dedicated following, which absolutely blows my mind. And not only do I have a corner couch, but we’re planning on getting an even nicer corner couch once we move.

Did I manifest this stuff by dreaming about it hard enough? I don’t know. I’ve been reading a lot about the law of attraction and how you can manifest the things you want through positive thinking. Do I necessarily believe it? I don’t know yet. But I do know thinking positively is way better than wallowing in doubt and self-pity. Maybe there is something valuable in the act of allowing yourself to dream a little.

I pray we end up here in the next few years, but if we don’t, for whatever reason, I know God and the universe will work things out for the best. Being here, though, it honestly feels like we’re dipping our toe into the rest of our lives. I’ve got such a good feeling from this little town with a silly name.

Here’s to you, Kalamazoo.

Dear Cadence, Part Eight: Just Because It Doesn’t Last, Doesn’t Mean It’s Not Special

This is the latest installment in my memoir project, written as a series of letters to my future daughter. Here are the previous entries: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, and Part Seven.

I promise this will be the last lovey dovey chapter for a while. And this one — well, this one was different.

I still remember his full name. Jacob Liepshutz. Pronounced “lip-shuts,” not “lip-shits,” but get the giggles out now. He was short, about my height, with a bit of a squeaky voice and tufts of curly dark hair, and with these deep brown eyes that could see your soul. He was the typical nice Jewish boy you’d see in rom coms, the kind you would be happy to take home to your mama, with one important distinction.

He could fucking shred.

The band was called Smiles & Anchors, and their signature song was called “Shark Week.” It was a standard issue metalcore song for the most part, save for the very end, when Jacob would launch into the most captivating, triumphant guitar solo I’d ever heard in my eighteen-or-so years of life. And that’s when he won me over.

It wasn’t a crush I realized I held until the night I stayed with his family in West Bloomfield after a show. We had become decent enough friends for him to have offered to drive me out to see them in a town that was the opposite direction of where I was living. I felt bad for putting him through all the trouble, but he was happy to take me. By the time the bands had all played and he’d finished packing up his gear, it was far too late to make the trek to the other side of the Metro Detroit area. So I crashed with him for the night.

I stayed on the couch in the basement, and about ten minutes into me lying down, Jacob snuck into the room with me.

“Is it okay if I lie down with you?” he asked softly.

I knew what was going to happen if I said yes, but I did anyway. And I never regretted it.

The next morning, he drove me back to my little college town, and I still remember him playing “Shiksa (Girlfriend)” by Say Anything. “I have a girlfriend now, no way, no how,” the song sang as we rolled down the highway, me wrapped in his old varsity jacket. I never felt this kind of…was it love? I couldn’t figure it out. All I know is that entire day, as I went through the motions of my music therapy classes, I still felt his touch on my skin, and every time, I’d get shivers.

For that month, September, we were inseparable. Any chance we both had to be together, we were. I remember the night of Rosh Hashanah, lying on the beanbag chairs in my dorm, studying the freckles in his eyes as if there’d be a test. I remember meeting his parents and his little siblings and how kind they were to me. I remember him taking me to his old high school and showing me around the band room, where he’d spent so much of his time. I told him about how I played in my high school band and how I desperately wanted to make it in music as well.

One night, we sat in a parking lot while listening to the acoustic work of Buckethead, one of his favorite guitarists.

“I have a band too,” I said. “Well, a project. It’s called Wake Up Jamie.”

“Who’s Jamie?”

“Nobody,” I laughed. “It was a misheard lyric from a song I used to like. Where did Smiles & Anchors come from?”

His calloused fingertips interlaced with my own. “I make music because I want to see people smile. I don’t do it for myself. And what you’re doing with music therapy…that’s so admirable to me.”

I breathed a soft “thank you” and leaned into him. Asteroids could have decimated the planet in that very moment and I would have died happy.

Then, one day, it just…stopped. I stopped getting cute texts from him. He didn’t seem to want to hang out. I went to a Halloween show, and he barely acknowledged me. It was like a switch flipped. I was devestated.

It wasn’t until years later that I found out he’d been struggling with depression, much the same as I had been, and just kind of…fell off. He never meant to hurt me. In fact, he didn’t realize I felt so deeply about him. He went on to join another band and sign with a fairly major label, and I went on with my own life. We did eventually reconnect and casually dated again for a week or so, but nothing ever came of it. I was still heartbroken, but by that time, I had a million other things to be heartbroken about as well, like the breakup of my first official band, Dethklok (it’ll make sense later). I had to accept the hard truth that maybe Jacob Liepshutz wasn’t my soulmate after all.

Even still, I have an anchor tattooed on my foot in honor of that time in my life — not symbolizing Jacob himself, but what he taught me about music and about life. Music is great when you make it for yourself, but it becomes beautiful when you release it out into the world and let it affect the people around you. The anchor is a symbol to me to stay humble and remember why I picked up the noble art of music in the first place. Music is how I have always connected with people, and if I can use it to bring a little light into the lives of others, I’ll be happy. Jacob reminded me of that, and for this reason, he’ll always be a part of me.

Sometimes, the relationships you have aren’t meant to last forever, but they existed in that brief glimmer of life to teach you something valuable. And to me, that makes it all worth it.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Last night was my interview for my dream internship. So much is riding on me getting this position. If I get this internship, I’ll get to graduate by next December, meaning we’ll get to move to Kalamazoo so I can start grad school and perhaps most excitingly, start our family. Should I fail to get this position, I’ll have to either wait another year or move (potentially out of state) for a different internship. Which is a lot to take in.

I just wish I knew one way or another. Like Tom Petty said, the waiting is the hardest part.

I talked in a recent post about how I wish I could fast-forward my life story and know for sure that everything works out the way I planned. I’ve been reading books on things like the law of attraction and how you can manifest the life you want just by imagining it really hard. I hope that’s true, but at the same time, I hope it isn’t, because I’m secretly afraid the second I lose faith, everything will come crashing. If my hopes can manifest good things, surely my anxieties will manifest bad things in turn. That’s how it works, right?

And all I can think about is, if I’m this much of a wreck waiting for news on whether or not I got an internship, imagine how much more of a wreck I’ll be waiting for news of whether or not I have some terminal illness or something.

Is there such a thing as being terminally anxious?

I don’t have a lot of family baggage, but there is one generational curse that’s plagued the women in my family for time immemorial, and that’s anxiety. My grandma was so anxious she rarely ever left the house and consequently never learned to drive. My mom’s better, but not by much. I see how anxious she is and it breaks my heart. She’s scared of heights, bridges, highways, serial killers — she once told me not to date a guy because he looked vaguely like a local murderer who was on the run (it wasn’t him, for what it’s worth). And as much as I’d like to consider myself fearless, I do have things that scare me. One of them is death, and the other is not being able to do everything I want to do before death. So really, I only have one fear, but it’s a whopper.

This internship and the anxiety I’m feeling over it is a microcosm I’m of my bigger fear — that I won’t get to accomplish everything I’ve set out to do. I’m scared if I don’t get this internship, I’ll have to wait another year for it to happen again, and what if I don’t get it then and have to wait another year? What if I can’t have kids by then? What if I’m like, 50 by the time I graduate from grad school? I’ll already be halfway dead, right?

I don’t have an easy antidote for anxiety, and if I did, trust me, I’d sell that shit in a heartbeat and make millions. I guess there’s always Xanax, but you need a prescription for that and that’s too much work. I think the thing that’s helping me is one single affirmation — “What if it all goes right?” We’re so used to telling ourselves it’ll all go wrong, just changing your inner dialogue to something more positive helps alleviate the stress. Will it make the thing you want to happen, happen? Maybe, if you believe in the law of attraction. But it’ll make things easier in the meantime.

I’m holding onto the hope that this internship will come through and I won’t have to uproot my entire life to finish my degree. But if it comes down to it, I know things will work out in the end. God has always provided a way for me in the past, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. There’s always a way forward, even when the waiting is daunting. You just gotta trust that the universe will catch you as you’re free falling.

Love, Your Mom Friend: A Guide to Growing Up

I think it hit me when my wife brought up yet another youngin’ who latched onto her. You see, for some reason, we attract people in their early 20s. And we’re the ones they turn to when they need advice, or even just an ear.

We’re the mom friends now.

I never thought I’d see the day when we’d be the wise, old, responsible ones in our friendships. Two years ago, we were lazy drunks who contributed nothing of worth to society, who barely scraped by in life. We were the former gifted kid burnouts everyone pities, squandering what little money we had on booze and vapes for a sad little hit of dopamine. It’s a wonder we managed to pay our rent on time. We should have been on the streets.

Now we’re in the gym every other night, and we’re no longer bloated and sick from poisoning ourselves with alcohol. We have a measly savings account, but that’s more than a lot of people our age can say. I’m interviewing for my dream internship tonight, and my wife is preparing to start her costuming business.

I think at some point, you have to get sick of sucking in order to grow. It’s the difference between real adulthood and adolescence (which goes way beyond the teenage years in some people, us included). I get why a lot of folks our age have stagnated, especially due to economic/financial issues. But at some point, staying in this prolonged state of adolescence is just sad. We’re not meant to have our growths stunted. We’re meant for bigger, better things.

How do you reach real adulthood, though? The path is different for everyone, but here are the steps we took to get out of that adolescent rut.

1. Stop Drinking

All together. Even if it’s just for a little while, but I think you’ll find you like yourself more when you’re not guzzling booze every other day. I know I’ve improved significantly as a person since I ditched alcohol. I sleep better, I don’t have weird abdominal pains, I’m actually creative again, and I don’t bitch like a baby at my poor wife who had to deal with my bullshit. There’s a book called The Alcohol Experiment by Annie Grace that I highly recommend. If you do nothing else in this list, at least read this book. It changed my entire perspective on why we drink.

2. Make a Budget

No one likes talking about money, but it’s an important part of everyday life. And if we’re honest, we all like money — we just have a complicated relationship with it. One way to make that relationship a little less tumultuous is to make a budget. Sit down one afternoon with a nice cup of tea (or whatever helps relax you — NOT ALCOHOL) and see where your money is going every month. You might be surprised how much you’re spending in certain areas, and how much you could be saving by not throwing money at Taco Bell three times a week. It might help to hire a financial advisor, but I realize that’s not in everyone’s budget. You can do it yourself with a free hour and a spreadsheet and/or pen and paper, so there’s no excuse to not be doing this!

3. CLEAN YOUR SPACE

“But it will just get dirty again—“ Enough of that nonsense. Imagine if we said “Why eat if we’ll just get hungry again?” You’re a living being, and by living in your house or apartment, it is by extension a part of you. Take a little time every day to tidy up one thing. Just one single thing. Maybe clear off the kitchen counters, or scrub the tub, or do laundry. Just make sure you’re doing ONE thing. And if you keep going after that one thing is finished, don’t stop the momentum! Keep on cleaning until you don’t have it in you to do anything else. Having a clean space will help you feel more relaxed and “at home.” And while we’re at it…

4. Decorate Your Space!

The fun part! Now that you’re an adult, you get to do whatever you want with your home (within reason — don’t get in trouble with your landlord because you tried to set up a pool inside your tiny apartment). Put stuff on the wall that makes you happy. I suggest buying art from local artists and turning your space into your own personal museum. It will make you look really cool and cultured, trust me. Especially if that art’s on a canvas. That screams adult.

5. Get Moving

When we were kids, running and jumping felt right and natural. What happened?! As we step into our new adult bodies, we need movement just as much as we did as kids. It doesn’t need to be structured or have a specific goal in mind. If you want to run a 5k, it’s great to have that as an objective, but even just dancing a little every morning to get the blood flowing is good. I have a routine of waking up early, swimming around a little, and doing 20 minutes of cardio on the elliptical. That helps me stay grounded and focused all day. Find ways to make movement fun again. Play tag with your significant other. Play that Just Dance game I suck at. Take a walk every night and see what sights there are to see near your place. There’s a whole wide world to explore!

And most importantly, don’t be too hard on yourself. Growing up is a process, and there are some aspects of adulthood I have yet to master. But as your mom friend, this is me telling you that you gotta step up your adulting game, because you deserve to live an amazing, fulfilling, grown up life.

And don’t forget to change your underwear!

Every Hello Ends in Goodbye (Or, My Newly Realized Abandonment Issues)

It’s probably not the best idea to start my week with therapy, because I’ll inevitably be walking back into work with my eye makeup looking like Avril Lavigne circa 2004.

“Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?” -me to my therapist, probably

Today’s session left me a big teary mess once again, but now I think I realize why I’ve been a big sad lately.

I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that all things eventually end. Places you loved get torn down, your pets will all die, and even if something manages to stick around long after you’re dead, like a really cool sturdy rock or something, there’s still the inevitable heat death of the universe to look forward to.

But love lasts forever, right?

I’ve been through a lot of close friends, and the one thing they all had in common is that they invariably went their separate way from me. Crass is the only best friend I’ve ever had who stuck around, and I’m still paranoid she’s going to get tired of me someday and leave me. Even though we’re legally married. You know the whole “til death do us part” thing? What if she dies first? What if there’s no afterlife and all of this was for naught? What if there is an afterlife and her spirit like, divorces me? What if I get ghosted by a literal ghost?

Family lasts forever though, right? Except the only members of my family I even talk to are my parents, and I’m acutely aware of the fact that they are likely going to die before me, leaving me with exactly no blood relatives I’m actually on regular speaking terms with. There’s always my brother, but he’s been weirdly squirrelly since he got all up Trump’s butt, and he stopped talking to me altogether after I dared to not be straight. “But what about chosen family?!” Ah, yes. That brings me back to the whole “friends eventually inevitably leave me” thing.

Maybe I do have abandonment issues.

I was today years old when I realized that this was a likely problem for me. Before today, I thought abandonment issues were for people who got left on a stranger’s stoop by their parents as a baby. It’s not like I have daddy issues — my dad and I are actually really close. Maybe that is a problem, since I know deep down he’s gonna die someday and I’ll be a wreck without him.

The logical side of me, the part I’ve beaten to death with a hammer and still comes popping back up like an asshole zombie, says that if I never let anyone get close to me, I’ll never have to worry about losing anyone. That’s such a sad way to live, though. The beauty of life is in the connections we make, and by shutting other people out to protect ourselves, we’ll never know how fulfilling it is to love someone else. Maybe that’s the feely side of me talking, though.

Facebook is an absolute hellscape, but I found something vaguely encouraging amidst the general dumbassery. I’ll share it here in its entirety.

Maybe it’s unreasonable to expect every relationship in my life to remain unchanged until the day me and all my loved ones die simultaneously in our sleep of old age. The world is in a constant state of flux, and things will change and evolve over time. Perhaps it should be enough to enjoy what we have in the moment and savor every second we get to spend with the people we care about. That way, when “goodbye” inevitably comes, there are no regrets. “Show love with no remorse,” as the Red Hot Chili Peppers said in their song “Dosed.” That’s the mantra that guides my entire life, and yes, I get my most treasured wisdom from four men whose most iconic outfit is one singular sock.

The Delicate Art of Surrender

So there’s this old song by a band no one remembers called “Happily Ever After.” In it, the singer, Bethany (I don’t know if that’s her name but she sounds like a Bethany), croons about how she hopes God gives her story the ending she desires. “Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up happy?”

I’m being informed by Google that her name is actually Rachel and judging by the haircut worn by no straight woman ever, she ended up gay.

It’s been hard lately to surrender to the unknown future, and as of late, the future feels more unknown than ever. I have my music therapy internship interview this upcoming week. My band is starting to get some attention. I’ve been considering a number of additional paths, such as becoming a writer and teaching music full time. And my heart still longs for a child, as stupid as I feel for saying that. I sound like the “my biological clock is ticking” women I made fun of when I was younger.

Every day feels the same, but I know things are slowly changing. The future needs time to cook, and I need to let it simmer for a while. I know logically I can’t rush things, but I want to get to the next stage of life so badly it hurts. I want to know I’ll have my little girl and my unconventional yet happy family and that it’ll be cupcakes and roses for everyone involved. I want to know that my career will be successful, whether it’s music therapy or playing in a rock band or something else entirely that I haven’t figured out yet.

There’s this book I just finished called You Are a Badass by a writer named Jen Sincero. The logical side of my brain considers it a little too foo-foo at times — you’re telling me I can manifest anything by wishing for it hard enough?! — but there’s some value in being thankful to the universe for all of the possibilities it could give to you. She writes of having gratitude toward God or whichever higher power you like the best as if you already have the thing you desire, and then surrendering that thing to the Universe. That’s what I have trouble with I think. The surrendering part. I hold onto things with the tenacity of a particularly angry dog.

THESE ARE MY DREAMS, UNIVERSE. NO TOUCH.

I’m in the best position I’ve ever been in. My band is on the verge of something great, I’m about to finish my degree — finally — and I have not one, but two significant others whom I love with my entire heart. There’s still room for things to go awry, however, and that’s what scares me. What if I don’t get this internship? What if one of my partners gets sick of my bullshit and leaves me? And — the one that hurts the most to think about — what if my little Cadence never comes to be? I don’t know if I could handle that.

I wish life were as easy as it were in The Sims, where I could press a few buttons and enter a cheat code and everything I ever wanted would be right there waiting for me. Maybe it is there, like Sincero said in her book, and I just need to manifest it. I should be grateful for all these possibilities that are coming my way, but it’s so hard to shake the nagging feeling of something will go wrong.

I think the real power comes in trusting that God/the Universe will provide an even cooler alternative if I don’t end up getting what I want, like how He provided a Black Sabbath tribute band after my wedding reception when the fuddy-duddies at the church I got married at didn’t allow dancing at the shindig itself. (There’s a reason that marriage didn’t last, but at least I got to party with Ozzy freakin’ Osbourne.)

The only Prince Charming I needed was the Prince of Darkness himself.

There’s a verse in the Bible that talks about how God works all things together for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). That’s what I’ve been meditating on as of late. It hurts to surrender my plans to Him, but I know He’s got my best interest at heart. The Author of the moment knows more about the storyline than I do. I think back to everything I thought I wanted years ago. Had I reached Taylor Swift levels of fame and fortune, for example, I probably would have thrown myself into a meat grinder by now, with all the pressure and scrutiny weighing on my mental health. My desire to be the biggest rock star on the planet wasn’t from God — it was from me — and only in retrospect do I realize that achieving that dream would have been my ruin.

Still, I’m worried about a lot of things. I’m worried I’ll never get my real dream wedding with either of my partners. I’m worried we’ll never have our kid. I’m worried I’ll never get to go to the UK to meet my long-lost cousin/penpal. I’m worried I’ll never get to live in a little home by the lake. I worry a lot more than I let on. But I’m learning to trust that things always seem to work out for the best in the end.

No, Trans Women Are Not Threatening Womanhood

I’ve largely disconnected from Facebook because I’m trying to love myself. Still, the primal urge to check in on that hellhole creeps in every now and then. It’s like how some folks enjoy watching pimple popping. It’s often disgusting, but fascinating all the same. I don’t know, maybe I’m following the wrong people.

Anyways, this is what I opened that God-forsaken app to:

Do you know how tempted I am to NOT hide these losers’ identities?

Basically, Jess Hilarious is a comedian (you gotta be with a last name like Hilarious). Recently, she said some pretty TERF-y things, which is what the status above is referring to. Here’s the direct quote, for anyone too lazy to click on the link:

What is the difference between you and someone who has been diagnosed to be mentally insane? The only difference is you don’t have a straitjacket on. Stop talking out your (bleep). Wake up. How are you projecting your anger on real women? Because we are the gatekeepers. We are the gatekeepers for periods. We are the only one that (bleep) bleed, honey.
Jess Hilarious, being decidedly unhilarious

The tirade was in response to a TikTok video of a trans woman who claimed cis women don’t “own” womanhood or periods. The second point is decidedly true — (almost) all AFAB people of a certain age have periods, which includes some trans men and non-binary individuals. And the first point, well, that’s also true, but it’s worth noting that the two aren’t synonymous. Read that again — womanhood and periods are not synonymous. One can exist without the other. Lots of cis women don’t have periods, too, for a number of reasons.

The TERF agenda seems to revolve around the idea that womanhood is this finite resource, and if non-AFAB people get a slice of the pie, there’s less available for what they’d consider “real women.” It’s a silly argument. Someone with a penis wearing a sundress or makeup and going by she/her doesn’t make you, a cis woman, any less of a woman. She’s just out here minding her own business, and you should too. (And everyone should experience the unbridled joy of wearing a sundress on a pretty spring day, I don’t care what gender you are.)

Womanhood should not be gatekept. After all, it is a concept, above all other things. It’s a societal construct that shifts and changes depending on time and culture. 200 years ago, womanhood looked like wearing a corset; in Muslim-majority areas, it might look like wearing a hijab. Heck, pink used to be a masculine color until we decided as a culture to code it as feminine. These are all arbitrary things — we could decide as a society that women need to wear saucepans on their heads and if enough people went along with it, that would be the new normal.

My point here is that if the norms of what your culture considers “womanly” fits how you feel, then womanhood is open to you, and that’s regardless of your naughty bits. It’s the Shania Twain Principle. If you wake up in the morning thinking man, I feel like a woman, I have news for you.

Sure, pregnancy and childbirth (and periods, by extension) are traditionally associated with womanhood, but like everything that depends on societal norms, there will always be exceptions. Look at women who cannot conceive or carry a child. Do we revoke their woman-card? Absolutely not, and the very idea of doing such a thing is wildly offensive.

There’s room at the table for all of us: cis, trans, or non-binary, able to bear children or unable to bear children, sundress-lovers and pantsuit connoisseurs alike. When addressing important issues like bodily autonomy, such as abortion and birth control rights and the right to receive gender affirming care, it’s more important than ever that all women band together against our common enemy — the greedy, misogynistic old guys in power.

Like most people I don’t agree with, I don’t think Jess Hilarious is necessarily a bad person — just misguided. I hope she, too, someday comes to realize that womanhood is for anyone who dares claim it.

ADHD: An Owner’s Manual (Part Four: Habits You Can Keep!)

I’ll admit I haven’t been keeping up on my ADHD: An Owner’s Manual posts as much as I’d like. It’s almost like I have ADHD! Who’d a thunk it, right?

Nevertheless, I want to get back into writing these again, since I know a lot of people found them useful. When the daily prompt of “habits” came up, I figured it was a perfect opportunity to jump into some of my own personal habits for success with ADHD. These are simply habits that work for me, but feel free to borrow any or all of them for your personal life.

Without further ado…

What are your daily habits?

1. Read

This one is so important. I’ve always been an avid reader, usually of nonfiction. There’s so much out there to learn that it feels neglectful not to study a topic of interest a little bit every day. My habit tracker simply says “read,” but I try to aim for at least a page of something a day. That typically turns into several pages, maybe even several chapters, but the most important thing is getting your foot in the door with just a single page.

Here’s the cheat for ADHD — it doesn’t need to be a physical book. The cool thing about having a phone with you at all times is you can download whatever you want to read and have it in your pocket at all times. Whip it out whenever you have a spare moment. Hint: bathroom breaks are perfect for reading.

Another trick is to pick a topic that interests you. If you’re like me and have something (like a badass glam emo band) to promote, look into a book on digital marketing like One Million Followers by Brendan Kane. If you want to improve your communication skills, How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie is a classic. If you want to better yourself as a whole, I highly recommend Atomic Habits by James Clear or Eat That Frog! by Brian Tracy. Another one of my favorite authors is Austin Kleon, whose books should be essential reading for any creative. Whatever book you choose, make sure it’s interesting to you!

2. Study a Language

Languages are the building block of human civilization — so why does there have to be so freaking many of them?! I’ve been to Sunday school, I know the story. A bunch of ancient assholes ruined it for us as always, right?

The downside of there being a bazillion languages is that a portion of humanity is essentially behind a paywall, and the price you have to pay is hours upon hours of studying a foreign language. But as daunting as the task is, learning languages can be fun! Gone are the days of burying your face in a book and trying to figure out how to conjugate verbs on your own. Modern technology has game-ified language learning, which makes it accessible to even the most ADHD among us.

There’s two apps I regularly use — Duolingo and Drops. Duolingo is better for grammar, Drops for vocabulary. Both are good options and certainly be used together. As for which language to learn, that’s up to you. Obviously anything that uses the Roman alphabet is going to be easier for the most part, but if you want a challenge, take up something that uses a different writing system. I did the latter, choosing Arabic, which has the added bonus of being the second language of many of my coworkers. That’s another consideration — do you have people to practice with? Consider choosing a language many people in your area speak.

3. Clean a Thing

That’s it. That’s the habit. Just pick one thing in your dwelling space and put it where it belongs, or give it a good scrub. You don’t need to make an entire ordeal of it, and just cleaning a little every day will make cleaning your entire home less daunting. Sometimes cleaning one thing will snowball into cleaning another thing, then another, and another, but the important part is initiating the act of cleaning. Breaking up huge, seemingly impossible tasks into bite-sized pieces like this helps me to keep a clean apartment.

4. Do Something Creative

That’s it! I make it a point to either write or do art every single day. Whatever your passion is, indulge yourself in it daily for at least five minutes — and don’t stop yourself if you get lost in the sauce and want to keep going. Again, the trick is to overcome that executive dysfunction and get started, and once you’re in the zone, don’t fight it. Use your hyperfocusing powers to your advantage.

It’s crucial to do this every day if you can. Think of it in terms of identity. For a long time, I called myself a writer — but I barely wrote anything! What good is calling yourself a writer if you don’t, you know, write? Put your identity first. What do you want to be? A painter? A musician? A dancer? A chef? Once you establish who you are, be that kind of person, which means doing whatever it is that person does. Being and doing are intertwined. Ask yourself every day, “What would a real (insert whatever it is you want to be here) do with their free time?” Then do it!

My artist wife has a saying — “You gotta want it every day.” She makes it a point to draw at least one illustration a day, even when she’s having a creative block. Just doing something is better than nothing. It’s all about building those little habits.

5. Get Moving

This is another important one. It’s no secret that we ADHDers benefit from exercise. The CDC recommends 150 minutes of physical activity a week with two days of strength training. While that seems like a lot, it breaks down to less than a half hour a day if you do it every day.

Going to the gym might be a good idea for concentration purposes. If you try to work out at home, you’ll be fighting off every distraction imaginable, from video game console on your tv stand to the sweet siren call of your bed.

When choosing a gym, your number one consideration should be location, location, location. You want to remove as few obstacles as possible and make the habit as obvious as possible. If you’re torn between an LA Fitness you pass every day on your commute and a Planet Fitness that’s five minutes out of the way, drop that little extra for the LA Fitness. Speaking of making your exercise habit as easy as possible to maintain, keep some running shoes and workout clothes in your car at all times. If you have to run home to grab them, well…

Our natural ability to double task is useful for working out because we can easily get our cardio in while reading or watching Netflix. Also, music is a great reward for working out — listening to your favorite songs while putting in the work makes time go by faster. And if going to the gym is out of the question for whatever reason, just taking tiny steps to stay in shape still helps. Take the stairs, ride your bike, do some morning stretches, whatever gets you moving. As I always say, small victories are still victories.

Do you have any daily habits? Feel free to comment them below!

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