I'm Just Living That Life

Stillness, Spirals and Wanting It All

Joan Miró; 'Solitude III', 1960

I am an inherently busy person. I make dinner reservations, I recommend books, I go out. But this past Sunday, my psyche declared it was over my bullshit and I was forced to practice something I rarely do—stillness. Never one to disobey the powers that be, I spent three glorious phone-free hours in bed rewatching Marissa Cooper navigate the trials and tribulations of being a high school senior while dripping in off-the-runway Chanel.

Snapping back to reality, I was greeted by Instagram with open arms. Two scenarios appeared before me: first, a video of a lime green handheld fan emblazoned with BRAT, waving over the crowds of Coachella while "Von Dutch" by Charli XCX simmered in the background. Second, a photo of my friend's baby, hands in the air, mid-waddle down a cobblestone street. I still can't decide which storyline I'd rather switch places with.

This friction is anything but foreign to me. When I was in my 20s, I lived in a 5th-floor walk-up apartment with three other girls on 2nd Avenue. The building was an architectural question mark with impeccable vibes. I was working in restaurants and spending half of my days brooding over how I was going to become the voice of my generation, and the other half pouring copious amounts of free champagne to all of my friends who came to visit me at my job.

Everyone around me seemed to be asking the same question: "How is this going to all work out?" In spite of the melodrama that was my existence at the time, I was always the first person to chime in with a "one day this will all make sense," overly confident that there would be a point in time where any uncertainty would crystallize into a magical door leading to something bigger.

I'm not sure where the time went, but that "one day" is here.

Once in a while I allow myself to go down the rabbit hole. Surrendering to a full-on spiral over whatever has me tossing and turning. Am I so scared to wind up settling that in turn I freeze and actually am settling? What is the most meaningful way to define my life: My hobbies? My accomplishments? My bank account? A wedding at The Grill? 100k Substack Subscribers? Becoming a mom? Am I crazy to think it's possible to have everything I want all at once?

Deep down I know it all comes back to love. The more I give myself permission to lean into what I'm good at—my writing, my sense of humor, my empathy—the more I find ways to accept who I am. And when I bite the bullet and choose to love myself, it's almost as if an invitation gets sent out welcoming people into my orbit who feel like the wind beneath my wings, awarding me with the belief that I can do anything I set my mind to. I can only imagine what it might be like when I do have children, throwing myself into the line of fire as a pillar of security for a living, breathing extension of my soul—a love that will make me want to show up for myself times one million.

Currently I feel stuck in a few rooms I don't belong in—suffocated, restless, unsure, but somehow hopeful all at the same time. "One day this will all make sense". When the hamster wheel of my brain starts to churn, I can almost feel the future versions of myself I have yet to meet holding my chin up and guiding me to whatever's next.

So, where are we headed? Honestly—itinerary is up in the air. Definitely not Coachella, and probably not motherhood anytime soon. The only certainty I hold is that I refuse to let myself stop growing. And in some ways, recognizing that I have this choice at my fingertips feels like my first taste of what it's like to really have it all.