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I’ve been writing every day since 2003. And every day (even today), I wake up, my head filled with new ideas to write about. I get excited, thinking about getting the mundane work done so I can pull out my laptop and start writing.

Only now, it’s different.

Let me start at the beginning. Before I went into midlife crisis mode (a year or two ago), I’d wake up, open up the laptop, check my email, Slack, and Wrike and my day would begin. I’d start scribbling content related to whatever project I was working on for whichever client was assigned to me and under whatever deadline was imposed upon me. Every few hours, I’d step away from the desk and go for a walk. On these walks, my head would swell with story ideas I wanted to write. Sometimes I’d dictate them into my Notes on my phone. Sometimes I’d convince myself I’d remember the pitch and then jot it down in my Swipe file once I got home. Of course, remembering rarely happened. My memory is a sieve. The lesson here is: My passion for writing is real (and intense even two decades later).

My passion for writing has stayed because of my curiosity, consistency, and sheer will to constantly keep experimenting. I’ve written several bad stories and abandoned some that could have become good ones. But I just keep typing as I grow. And I do it on my laptop after I shut down my work-top, and I fit in the time.

At the beginning of this article, I mentioned things are different now. Here’s how: It’s 10:30am, I have a client meeting in 30 minutes, and I’m writing this – not prepping for my meeting. I also haven’t checked my email, logged onto Slack, or started writing the copy for the debt collector’s website due by the end of the day.

This is either a problem or a sign.

I’ve read articles written by people that say, “I’m tired of working for someone and helping them get rich and achieve their dream.” It’s not about the money; I don’t need to make much money – I choose to be a minimalist. I consider this a modern-day Thelma & Louise (although there is no Louise, and I would probably have to tornado through my adventure by Uber). It’s about a new perspective on life and the need to follow an old passion of my heart. I’ve always fitted my passion around my day job, but lately, I fit my job around my passion.

Now I read other articles, too. These pieces tell me that if I’m stuck in a job that I hate and wondering if pursuing my dream will set me free, all I need to do is take that leap of faith and trust my gut. Oh, and buy this 90-day guide on finding my first high-paying freelance client. I think it was Thelma who said, “You get what you settle for.”

I don’t easily pin; I plan (and sometimes buy 90-day guides). The way I see it, everyone has a must-see or a must-do, or a must-leap moment. And you either see-do-leap, or you watch others. Written with better grammar: what shots you got, take.

I’ve only ever been a full-time marketer and a spare-time blogger. I don’t have a niche. I don’t have a strategy. I don’t have a focus. I barely have a message. I just like to write. And my must-leap moment is to jump out of marketing. And I want to. Boyyyy, do I want to.

But right now I have to go. My client meeting starts in four minutes.

Do you ever feel like the new kid in your life? 

Something is a little different, and you know you’re on the threshold of something new, but you can’t quite put your finger on what that is. You don’t know if you’re breathing a little quicker because the steps in your house have steepened along with your age, or perhaps you’re simply breathing more freely, but something definitely “new” is adding just the right dash of crispness that makes you feel a tad bit more alive. 

When your whole life sort of “rearranges” (feel free to substitute “crumbles” here), it is time to step back gracefully. 

I am looking at my life with a little less attachment to the versions I’ve vision-boarded and penciled in, and I’m noticing that maybe, just maybe, I missed the boat that housed my life’s purpose. I’ve been evaluating everything that has made up my story thus far: the things that make me tick, the goals, the skills that are just innately part of me, and I’m down a rabbit hole. 

The scariest part is that I’ve been in this rabbit hole before, and I’ve been this new kid before. But through every stage of “new kid,” I have grown into a bigger, wiser, more fiery kid. And I find myself again with positiveness and dream, and perhaps even more oversized, more fabulous – slightly theatrical – rose-colored glasses sitting gingerly on my nose. 

I’ve been holding my real life hostage (or something like that)!

I’m the new kid whose fingers are pounding the keyboard and conversing with myself – swimming in ambiguity and butterflies. I’m the anticipation, the jitters, the sole of your foot on pretty little eggshells, thinking, “how the hell do I do this?”

My greatest joy in life is chocolate chips, and my second greatest joy is writing. So what’s in store for this new kid? Everything.

It’s time for fresh, new, unfamiliar, brilliantly uncomfortable changes to my career (and living arrangements). I’ve complained about writing for algorithms and search engines for years. It’s time I write for me (but still make money … I mean, a gal’s gotta eat). While A Similar Story is my personal blog (and I’ll never leave it), the freelance world is calling. I’m on the verge of making a modern writing career that serves me, not Google.

Rising stars have to start somewhere!

I feel like I can take on anything: the epic, magical, ultra-luxe, rough, and rugged opportunities. And not just little opportunities, but Medium ones, as well. 

You can find me here on Medium. I’ll be writing on lots of different topics. In fact, my next one just might be, “Is it marketing, or is it propaganda?”

I’m also a writer on a few freelance boards (Upwork, Constant Content, iWriter, and ProBlogger), where I can be hired for freelance writing projects. Here, I get to choose the type of project, the topic, the industry, and I reap all the gloriousness that comes with “choice.”

Now for all of you who remember I mentioned changing my “living arrangements,” I’m looking to relocate to #AlmostHeaven. More to come… 

 

Age is just a number. You are not too old or young to try something you want.

Is that so? Does this not sound bacchanal to you?

Because I’m so old, I wanted to take an opportunity to make some observations about the experience of aging.

Aging is more than just attitude and vigor. It is more than a polite gesture, implying age has no boundaries or limits. It’s more than a date on the calendar. And if it’s your locked-screen wallpaper, you are due some perspective.

Not every human breath depends on the matter of age. No sirree. And we need not compete with others, believing that we must graduate at 22, get married at 28 and die at 80. But to oppose this idea, we’ve somehow brought forth the notion of age not mattering. This is an exaggeration, and we need to craft our phrases more intellectually.

Age is more than a number, and aging is more than just an adventurous spirit.

Here’s why:

For starters, if age was merely a number, there’s a high probability we’d be walking the earth with a few million adults acting like they’re 10. If that was the case, I’d have to shake a few people to the ground.

Another, and what I think is the most obvious (and critical), is that time speeds up. The older you get, the smaller proportion each year is to the entirety of your life. When you’re 10, a year makes up 10% of your lifetime. That’s a big deal! When you’re 30, it makes up only about 3.3%. And when you’re 50, it makes up about 2%. In a sense, a year at 50 feels five times faster than a year does at age 10.

The acceleration of time perception is unnerving. One, because it never slows down. But two, the older you get, the more you feel like time is “slipping away” from you.

In your 20s, everything is exciting. Everything is new and if you’re a late bloomer like me, experienced for the first time – first dates, parties, first jobs, graduations. You’re gung-ho and want to meet everybody and do everything.

By your 30s, you have to start making a conscious effort to build and maintain friendships. Gone are the days when friendships were so spontaneous, exciting and purposeless.

In your 40s, you’re suddenly willing to put up with less bullshit. Listening to a friend’s concerns and drama is kind of endearing. And pitiful. You still don’t quite know how to say ‘no’ to people, but they also don’t know how to hear no from people without taking it horribly personal.

In your 50s, it’s leisure over excitement. This past weekend, I turned on a Netflix series I had meant to watch for months. Sometime during the first episode of the first season, I fell asleep on the couch. Yep, just another wild and crazy Friday night in my life. But here’s the kicker: I liked it. When you’re young, you equate fun with excitement. But as you age, fun becomes much more about leisure and relaxation.

Here’s the best part: in your 50s, you’re old enough to have experienced much of what you hoped to experience. You earned wrinkles and gray hair. Your wisdom shines, and your smile becomes profound.

Age might hide failure or success, and the dichotomy does not matter if you’re proud of your age. But hiding away age as a blot on your existence is a shameful act that belittles your experiences. And for the record, it scoffs at the coming generation and gives them a wrongful warning that scares them from growing older.

The defiance of age-restricted activities sounds ‘cool’ and gives off the vibe of a rebel. However, the matter suits only the metaphor and none of the reality. Don’t stick to the false pretense that to accept age as something more than a number stands in our way of progress as human beings. It not just counters the argument of age as a ripening of the mind and soul but also digs a deeper grave for the productivity of today’s youth.

Getting old is not a disease but a part of life. Age is not just a number. It is an old album that tells you how far you have come (and how far you still have to go).

 

My horoscope this morning read: Shine your light on the lives of others and dazzle them with your colorful conversation.

Hmm. What to say, what to say? Colorful. No pressure. Dazzle. No pressure. Shine, eh? …

Maybe I could talk about the open border crisis and how the Republicans are still asking the dumb question: “Why isn’t the Biden administration doing anything to close our borders?” I believe Tucker already told us why 11 months ago. Pay better attention, Republicans.

…

Or I could talk about the whole Joe Rogan thing. I can’t say I’ve been a loyal listener, but I have tuned in to Rogan now and then, depending on the guest and the topic. For instance, I listened to his 3 1/2-hour interview with Jewel. GREAT episode (#1724). I highly recommend listening to this one. But back to Spotify and the situation at hand … Be brave. Stay strong. Don’t cave.

…

Or I could ask you my burning chicken-and-egg question: Do you think your character is formed by how other’s see and describe you? Or is how people see and describe you formed by your character? During my childhood (and my early adulthood), my family, my teachers, pretty much all adults around me described me as timid.

Timid, adjective, showing a lack of courage or confidence; easily frightened.

I mean, when I’m told as a kid that I’m timid, then I must be timid, right? Probably why I grew up being a shy, walking people-pleaser. But tell me, would a timid person go toe-to-toe with a 6’2, 350lb German bully at the gym who invades my space? Yes, I got in his face (er, waist, but my eyes were glaring from an angle). Would a timid person call her boss out on a lie? (That was a dumb idea. I got fired over it.) Would a timid person turn on her camera on a Zoom call and spend an hour presenting a marketing strategy to the folks at Wendy’s? (The real, actual, legit big brand red pigtails, Wendy’s.)

I stopped being a people-pleaser years ago so have my actions changed the way people describe me? Or have I changed how I act because no one has called me timid in 25 years? Chicken? Egg? Nature? Nurture?

…

Or I could talk about my big news that’s happening in May. I’m moving home to Rhode Island. I’ve changed my mind several times over the last six months, but I think I’m sticking with – the move is on. Lots of reasons and lots of ah-ha moments, and yes, lots of meditation and looking for signs from the universe. Also, yes, I realize my daughter and granddaughter are here (and any day now my grandson will be, too), but maybe I was supposed to raise my daughter here so that she could grow up and bless me with the greatest granddaughter. And maybe Arizona was the necessary so she could meet the man of her dreams, fall in love, get married and bless me with a grandson. And maybe since all has been achieved it’s now OK to go home.

…

Or I can give you an update on the lactose intolerant, gluten free eating tennis player that I’m no longer seeing (at least he wasn’t a narcissist). I need you all to know that I tried. I really, really, really tried. I was calm. I communicated well. I was very accommodating to his many (maaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyyy) needs. I listened. His love language (that effing book!!!) is touch (mine is not) (shocker) so I held his hand and did all the touchy feely cuddly things that he needed. I did all the shit – until I just couldn’t do the shit anymore…

…

Well, I suppose I can write about any one of these things, turning over every stone, then polishing it so the whole story sparkles majestically. Or I can wait till tomorrow’s horoscope and hopefully be let off the hook!

 

I once started in a new job, and by Day 2, I knew I’d made a colossal mistake.

Sitting in a leadership team meeting, I cracked a silly joke. The room went silent, and everyone stared at me like I’d grown another head. I thought, “Ohhhhh, this will not end well.” Four months of frustration later, I am done.

I will never work somewhere that I can’t bring my whole self, stupid jokes and all. As I job hunt, I’ve made a litmus test: my new favorite laptop sticker, which is silly, and I LOVE it. It’s from a dog rescue that funds vet bills for people who can’t pay them. If I ever find myself in a situation where I’d be tempted to peel this off before an in-person meeting… the deal’s off.

***

We often feel our emotions are blended to bits from our jobs. We sprint, run, jog, then walk; we heave, collapse, and lurch ourselves barely over the finish line to realize a new quarter, a new project, a goal, a new deadline to meet, or a problem to solve. Sometimes, it’s all we can do to stagger to our feet again. The voices in our heads start to creep in: “Just settle. Just do it that old, boring, outdated way, and nobody would question it.”

We send messages to others that we think, say, and do what they expect us to think, say, and do regardless of what our intuition is urging us to BE.

In these moments, when we feel like we’re just eking by, or else we really need a win or a confidence boost, it’s so tempting to do something dangerous: conform. A career in a box.

So, let me ask you: have you ever stood there, needing a win, maybe a bit more confidence, and perhaps a goddamn break from it all … and so you showed up as someone other than your true self?

Yeah.

Me, too.

But I think there’s good news for us.

Great work requires your true self and your actual beliefs to come through forcefully. Don’t couch them. Your actual quirks coming out from where they’ve been hiding.

Your work. Your way.

Your career. Your choice.

Your life. Your script.

What “one” is supposed to do is rarely what you are supposed to do. People around you, even people similar to you, are not YOU. However, finding out what path works best for you is squarely on your shoulders. It’s on each of us, and we’re entirely on the hook to figure it out and pursue it. Nobody else will do it for us, and nobody else is coming.

Maybe you really want to open the CAREER IN A BOX. That’s great! Some people like knowing each step ahead of them. Fantastic! The important part is that you know that about yourself.

But while some people want a paint-by-numbers career straight from the box, I tried that, and I was miserable. I realized (thanks in no small part to lots of thrashing in the wrong jobs in my 20s and 30s and 40s) I want a blank canvas career instead. And if I don’t like how this painting starts to look, I’ll just toss it aside and grab a new canvas.

Maybe you are part of a circle of loving friends who do exactly what you do, or maybe your loved ones don’t exactly understand what you do. (That’s me, as you might suspect. A description of my friends and me sound like the setup to a bad joke. “A doctor, a lawyer, a teacher, an accountant, and a [whatever the hell Lisa is] walk into a bar…”)

Because you can’t really use a single word to sum up my work, I say “writer” most often.

“Whatever the hell Lisa is.”

What I “is” is me.

(I did it, Dad. I wrote the best sentence of my life.)

What I am… is me. It’s all I can be. It’s all I’ll ever be. So I may as well stop lying to myself and get on with being it. People say “to each their own,” so we each may as well own it. If you really love the pomp and circumstance, sing the song. If you really love The Simpsons, buy the poster. But do it for yourself, not someone else, and not because you were told it’s what you’re “supposed to do.”

The expectations of others become crutches on which we lean when our confidence wavers. In moments of uncertainty or struggle, it’s tempting to stuff down our quirks and our convictions and show up to work acting like someone else.

No matter how uncertain or scared, or stressed you feel, I implore you don’t obsess over what someone like you is supposed to do. Obsess over what YOU are supposed to do. That’s a lifelong pursuit, but it’s well worth a lifetime.

Know who you are. Know why you do this work.

It’s your career.

Do it your way.

So here’s hoping everyone out there brings their awesome, authentic, whole selves to whatever it is you’re doing. Oh, and tell your dog I said hi.

Do you suppose it’s terrible to talk about yourself or anything positive (or negative) that doesn’t happen to be about world events?

With everything that is going on in our world today, I feel pretty guilty writing about myself …yet here I am.

I just accepted a position with a company that will pay me a lot of money. They believe I am “a talented and gifted writer and strategist” at the “top of my game.”

Talented? Shakespeare doesn’t live here, folks.

Gifted?? Not inept, but far from masterly.

At the top of my game? Sure, if we’re talking minor league.

(My cover letter is pretty awesome, though. It begins this way: I consider myself a Swiss-army knife of strategic disciplines. I know writing and editing as much as I know business strategy. I am also a left and right-brain thinker. I believe in turning over every stone (in a piece of writing and every campaign), then polishing it so the whole thing sparkles majestically.)

***

Imposter Syndrome is real, but so isn’t my vision of greatness in work. Can one transcend self-limitations and be extraordinary when it matters most? The president of Ukraine proves it’s possible. No, I’m not comparing myself to President Zelenskyy. But some people are meant to rise higher in life. Some people have an unwavering attitude of gratitude and grit. They achieve this growth mindset and thereby achieve their moonshot dreams. I’m not even sure I know what my moonshot dreams are. And grit? I might have had nerve… back in my 20s. And do I want to rise higher in life? I’m getting old. I’m getting tired. I’m very comfortable in this mid-level area where I don’t have to work extraordinarily hard to maintain my innate drive to be excellent.

Now, a story about a pike.

***

Pikes are pretty forgettable fish unless you’re a smaller fish, in which case pikes are downright troublesome. (That’s what you call a creature that eats you alive.)

Scientists dropped some tiny minnows into a tank containing a single pike in an experiment. Predictably, the pike ate the minnows immediately. But then, a funny thing happened. The scientists lowered in the next group of minnows inside a glass cup. The pike, who couldn’t even begin to grasp the concept of glass and, using his tiny brain, began to smash up against the cup in chase of the minnows. He did this for hours until finally, he drifted to the bottom of the tank, dejected.

Then, the scientists removed the glass cup, and the minnows swam freely all around the tank, undisturbed by the pike. Tasty little morsels swimming right under his nose, and he didn’t move so much as an inch.

This is what scientists today call “learned helplessness.”

Learned helplessness is a condition in which a person (or animal) suffers from a sense of powerlessness due to traumatic events or persistent failure. It’s the reason we believe a situation is either unchangeable or inescapable.

What does this have to do with my new job and colossal paycheck?

Learned helplessness is also a form of thinking that we are a certain way, so we can’t do certain things. A job that pays a hefty salary usually comes with hefty accountabilities and responsibilities, right? Hiring managers don’t typically offer large salaries to entry-level employees. No, I’m not entry-level, but the idea that my salary has jumped as high as it did in one move makes me wonder what accountabilities I’m in for. Better yet, am I qualified for?

Back to the pike. He couldn’t get those minnows, so to him, he was destined to never eat another minnow again. I’m a bit like the pike today. I never pulled in this salary, and I’m reasonably sure I’m not that “level” of an employee. Hmm, how can I better tie this together? Try this: tasty little morsels are swimming right in front of our noses, evidence and ideas that suggest we should make certain choices or try certain things. But we don’t budge. We discount or overlook them. Like our ornery friend the pike, we’ve been trained into believing we are helpless in a situation – or in my case, not worthy of such a large salary.

This story runs in my head as I walk into my new job. And it’s the story that’s been running in my head for years. I think I’m suffering from a specific case of learned helplessness. Thanks to years of cultural norms beating a particular message into my brain, it was learned.

So, the appropriate next question is, if we learned something, can we un-learn it?

Yes! We can un-learn our sense of learned helplessness. How we view things may have calcified thanks to a previous narrative. Still, we can and should seek to change that narrative when we recognize our current story is limiting us. In other words, we can tell a better story in our heads, which then affects how we approach our work.

Unlike the pike, we aren’t running into the glass so much as other barriers. Every time we come up against one, we try to make sense of the moment. We explain the world to ourselves. The more we explain setbacks and obstacles, the more the explanation calcifies in our minds. If we aren’t careful, a pessimistic description can harden our worldview. We then suffer from learned helplessness.

We all do something complicated and daunting in our work, no matter what we create: content, companies, cultures, change in society. It’s daunting to think the product of our minds must be good enough to resonate with others, cut through the noise and spark action, and create movements, businesses, and legacies. That alone is daunting enough, but making matters worse is often how we explain the world in our own minds.

But if we knew about learned helplessness and how it formed, and if we could dissect our own explanations of the world, then maybe we could better control the way we see that next task or opportunity or challenge. We can harness our internal narrative for forwarding momentum and avoid falling victim to the tricks our minds play on us, causing us to shrink for the moment. We can un-learn any helplessness we feel and learn to show up better in our work and lives.

Perhaps I never pulled in a big salary because my work wasn’t worthy, but employers didn’t value it. And therefore, neither did I.

I guess what I’m trying to say is even though the world is in disarray, we shouldn’t put our own story on hold for fear of sounding self-consumed. We shouldn’t think we need only to speak the story of world events. In fact, in the end, the most important story we tell is the one we tell ourselves.

I’m in a bad mood so I thought I’d blog.

My bad mood doesn’t have anything to do with world events. Well, not directly. I mean, yes, our country is a hot mess, and, yes, I think most people on social media are cowards, but no, they are not the fountainhead of my bad mood.

Everything else is though.

It’s been a rough day (and a rough few weeks). I Googled “how to dip off the radar” and here’s how the results came back:

• “Find your sweet spot and incorporate regular breaks into your year.” (*me, useless)
• “’Under the radar’ is a clear dip powder for nails.” (*me, WTF?)
• And my favorite, “Someone who wanted to steal the Malaysia Airlines jet could theoretically shut off the transponder and dip down to an altitude of 5,000 feet.” (*me, woopsie…)

Thanks, Google.

What do you do when your ambition exceeds your patience? You know what? I take that question back. My mood has nothing to do with ambition or patience. Or… directly, anyway. But I do want to tell pretty much everyone in my life to kiss off. Is that bad? How terrible of a person does this make me? That I want to tell everyone I know to go away?

I know what I’m not: I’m not a convenience. I’m not a robot. I’m not anyone’s motivation. I’m not cheating death. I’m not making a modern career. I’m not feeding the flame. I’m not known for what I love. I’m not baring all. I’m not expecting things. I’m not depressed. I’m not feeling all of life’s problems. I’m not always right. I’m not always wrong. I’m not breaking bad.

I am: Looking for more trees and less cactus. Wanting to write more and market less. Experience more and watch less. Breathe more and grunt less. Get hurt more and stay safe less. Hang on the bottom rung more and climb less. I want outrageous ideas. I want every bit, handpicked.

I think it’s time for a new chapter. I think it’s time for something bold. Now I’ve heard what people have said about me in the past. That I’m overbearing and even self-destructive. Well, good thing I have immense regenerative abilities, eh? I promise you I can grow back a new tail!

This next season I think is going to be all about extremes, intensity, obsession and desires. Some very serious feelings are bothering me right now.

First order of business might be to get this bad mood in check. I mean, I don’t think I want everyone to kiss off. It just sounds good.

I think.

In the middle of a grinding conversation at work: “X wants to sell more lamps so if we find out what kind of wine their customers drink…” Pause. Pause. We’re thinking… thinking. Brows are furrowed. Or maybe just mine?

We’re working this RFP like a piece of gum, folks. There’s a lot of chewing going on but all we have to show for it is an achy jaw.  

“Hey, by the way everyone,” I raise my hand for pause and effect, “I just want you to know, I LOVE this shit. This is my idea of fun.” And we plod on.

(That’s right; no one can say I’m not going the distance with my calling!)

OK, so maybe not every meeting or interaction or event in our lives brings a monumental level of emotion or impact. And not every event is meant to shake up our lives in a big way. But some do.

Here are six events that rocked my world — and I list these in the most pragmatically joyous sense:

1. In 2012, I sent an email to 700+ employees that was meant to be read by only three regional chiefs. (In the words of the late, great Hunter S. Thompson, “You know, would I leave my Keith Richards hat with the silver skull on it, on the stool at the coffee shop at LaGuardia? I wouldn’t do that again. But overall, no, I don’t have any regrets.”)
2. I chased after a boy and chased him away. (Once you feel you are avoided by someone, never disturb them again.)
3. I wrote my will. (Nothing will grow you up faster.)
4. I turned 40. (It was a fantastic year of sass & soul. I often mingle back and pretend I’m still in my prime. You can usually find me there on Tuesday’s.)
5. I created a bucket list. (Before I had this list, I jumped out of a plane strapped to a guy with the nickname Frogger. Now I follow the list.)
6. This event hasn’t happened yet, but it’s slated for May 2022. I’ll give you a hint: this.

I was listening to a podcast the other day, and the guest quoted Brené Brown. I’ve never read her books or listened to her podcast, but I did catch her 2010 breakout TED Talk, The power of vulnerability. Back then, I immediately tagged her as an expert in all things human connection.

Remembering I have her in the category of ‘expert,’ plus the quote I had just heard, and it was plenty good for me to search up one of her podcasts. The one I listened to included both Tim Ferriss and Dax Shepard.

Tim Ferriss said something. His comment brought me to another podcast.

I proceeded down a long and torturous podcast rabbit hole.

Days (and so many ridiculous podcast hours) later, I listened to Megyn Kelly and former Portland State University professor Peter Boghossian.

Who cares how I got here, right? THIS is where it all gets good. (Everything before the ‘but’ doesn’t matter.)

Boghossian talks about “lived experience” and how it becomes a reality, regardless of the facts. His example and I won’t do it justice, so you may want to bring up the podcast on your own, was centered around the number of unarmed black men shot by police each year. One woman said the number is 22,700 (unarmed black men shot by police each year). Another woman said it’s 7,000 that are shot.

The fact (checkers) says that number is 13.

As if living in an age of “fake news” and “alternative facts” doesn’t already make it hard to know what to believe, let’s throw in “lived experience” or “post-truth.”

According to the lived experiences of these two women, they set the number far, FAR outside the actual.

“My opinions are no longer things ripe for judgment and discussion, but rather they are opportunities for the fundamental aspects of myself to be “right” and to be considered “right” by the people around me.” ~ Kate Colombo

Gone are the days when people would say, I think. Now it’s, I feel. This language ultimately positions the speaker to regard his opinions less like ideas he’s informed with facts and more like personal truths. And, wham, there you have it. This form of discourse displaces the importance of truth and replaces it with “what is true for me.”

I’m not sure where I’m going with this. Before today I would have said speaking my truth is acceptable and should be considered more honest than any mere statement of facts.

I’m not so sure anymore.

Can we speak our truth sometimes and have it received as truth, but other times default to actual facts for truth? Is that possible? Serious questions. I’m not choosing a side. I mean, our personal experience influences how we decide things, but is that just an illusion?

I guess the truth is, I don’t know what the truth is.

1. Buying cauliflower-based foods.
2. Overthinking eye contact.
3. Buying colored yoga pants.
4. Re-reading emails after I sent them.
5. Taking selfies with the front-facing camera.
6. Texting while walking. (This is how “butch” became “bitch.”)
7. Food prepping. (Food prepping takes 4 hours. Eating takes 3 seconds. Washing Tupperware takes 7 days and 7 nights.)
8. Reading long Instagram captions. (When I stay on a post for too long the algorithm thinks because I read one inspirational meme, I want to read a thousand inspirational memes.)
9. Trying to move things with my mind (and Googling “How to move things with my mind”).
10. Humblebragging. (Like making lists and bragging about how happy I am.)

Happy October—the best month of the year. It’s finally fall in Arizona. Know what that means? Absolutely nothing. It’s still 90 degrees outside. Fun fact: Arizona is actually closer to the sun than the earth. I drove with my windows down tonight anyway. All the landscapers were out scalping and planting winter grass seed. Planting a winter lawn while it’s 90+ degrees doesn’t make much sense, but then again neither does Biscuits and Gravy flavored potato chips, and that’s apparently a thing that’s happening. Sometimes you just have to roll with it (and try not to barf). Really though, when the temperature shifts from 110 to 90 and we roll our windows down, we’re really no different than Midwesterners who wear shorts when it’s 40 degrees in March. So happy October. Fall is here!