This is me.
I write and throw balls and hold forks with my left hand, and I brush my teeth, play guitar, and pull weeds with my right hand. This probably means nothing or that I’m crazy.
When I was 15, I thought I’d end up a rock star. I’m happy to report that I currently have four guitars hanging on my living room wall, and I play only one of them every 8 to 12 months.
At 18, I knew I wanted to write. I assumed it would come easily and everybody would want to read everything I wrote and worship me a little. I’m just as happy to report that this assumption was idiotic and predated a lot of hard work and humbling realizations.
Twelve years ago, I discovered the miracle of growing things and became a certifiable plant lady. By “certifiable” I mean weirdo in the most official way. And “plant lady” because I love watching seeds sprout and grow into stuff I can rip out of the ground and chomp on. Sometimes I stare and coo at my garden or just crumble dirt in my hands. My neighbor hasn’t figured out what’s wrong with me.
I’m allergic to dust, mold, most grasses, several types of trees, cats, sesame seeds, and shitheads. Which explains why I was a miserable, snotty mess for many years of my life and also why I’ve ended several relationships.
I find it ironic that nature is on a constant campaign to kill me. Pollen season is like a giant middle finger from Mother Earth. My personal tagline should be, “Nature, why you no love me?”
I started writing when I was a toddler. It was completely illegible; regardless, I’d like to claim as much experience and expertise as possible. It’s safe to say that my writing has improved a lot; however, I can’t say the same for my stick-figure drawings.
My specialty is twofold, based on the fundamentals of my character and personality: humor and empathetic depth. Humor keeps us going on days we want to lie down and let someone steamroll over us. And empathy humanizes us, gives us psychological safety and support, and creates the strongest bonds of loyalty, love, and well-being. It’s why people become friends, why family matters, why community makes life worth living, and why brands have staying power and loyal-as-heck customers. There is no substitution for either of these.
I tossed perfectionism in the trash a few years ago but kept the dedication for details and the aim for excellence. Doing so allows me to slather other people with endless compassion and serve them well instead of crying in my closet, buried under crippling self-doubt and dirty shoes.
I love words. They’re a gift. A weapon. A force. The means of our most withering losses and failures and the springboards to our greatest and bravest ends. The words in our minds, the words we write, the words we offer to others—they are the best and most influential things we have to give.
My children destroyed the house while I was writing this, so the longer I wrote, the higher the price I paid. In other words: I love you
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