every little thing adds up!
AFFIRMATION: I KEEP TRYING BECAUSE I LOVE MYSELF
hello!
what is going ON. i hope you're hanging on. this is a blog about nothing except all of my efforts every day to live a life that i love. every mundane and tiny effort i make. it is boring but this is my life and i love it. i know i love it because i'm trying.
today,
i had to call off work because i had a migraine last night, lingering into the morning. i have more to say about my migraines but i'll save that for another time. but between my neck and back pain, the emerging cold sore, the acne, and the headache, i knew my body was under a lot of stress, and would give up soon if i didn't rest. so i did.
i drank water and went on a walk. i sat with the neighborhood cat as they rubbed their head into my hands. i made breakfast potatoes for the first time because i crave them everyday. the pain faded some, my body began to unclench. i journaled a bit, and crossed off some todos (processed a refund, responded to texts, updated my calendar). i rested my eyes and stretched my aching body. i helped a friend in their garden around lunch time so i could spend time with my eyes full of green and fingernails caked with dirt. the sun peeked out in the afternoon. i sat at a cafe and read and wrote. i listened to a new-to-me album while i drove home (though this month, i've been driving in silence). i did my dishes and drank water and wiped the dirt off my hands and feet. i crossed off more to-dos. i ate dinner in three parts (leftover pasta, cereal, and a kimchi quesadilla with the last of my cheese) while watching unscripted tv. i sang karaoke by myself for 45 minutes, then did vocal exercises. it brought me back to high school theatre. i'm taking an acting class this summer. i'm writing for my blog again. i'm coming home to myself.
today i learned,
the cat that roams around without a collar is named peak (like the mountain) and he lives with my neighbor at the end of the building. he takes his own collar off (hence the lack of collar) and comes and goes as he pleases. he always comes home
poppy roots can sometimes look like strange spindly carrots
the place in your voice where you transition between your chest voice and head voice is called the passaggio
east bay parks and recreation does free events including birding by boat at del valle, fish feeding in alameda, and a full moon grunion search (at midnight!)
yesterday,
i lurched myself from the inertia of working from home on a cloudy day and attended a friend's birthday celebration slash fundraiser dance-class slash loft party. i moved my spine and my friend/the teacher framed the class in surrender. i had stood on the roof for 15 minutes before walking into the room because when i'm alone for too long, i forget how loved and welcomed i really am. after class, one of the organizers reminded us how the love in our community protects us, keeps us safe, and emanates when we leave the spaces where we gather. we rolled around on the floor and danced and played and ate and laughed and transformed our frustration and anger and confusion and fear and grief and uncertainty through the act of showing up.
i want
to share more. and it feels so daunting because i have so much to say. i always have since i was 15. but these days, when i sit down to write them i am usually just met by one of my most pernicious Parts: the tiny nerd inside me, 2 inches tall and shaped like penne pasta, wearing suspenders and big glasses (think: a mix of Fear and Sadness from Inside Out). his recurring voice in my head reminds me futile i am, how little i know. he attempts to protect me by means of keeping me small, by holding me back from embarrassment, by scrambling my thoughts so i don't remember if i have anything important to say. i suppose today i will name him Frank.
but today i'll write anything that comes. this is what matters to me because it is my life and i will say it as plainly as i want and i will share it as widely as i'd like.
i need
to continue showing up to all my aspirations, all sizes and shapes and variations. it is the smallest things that add up. each word, each to-do, each errand, each tooth (brushed), each rep, each stretch, each question (asked), each plan (followed-through), each text- each moment is my life. every moment is my life and i cannot spend it waiting. i cannot spend it on regret or resentment. i cannot resign myself to my missed opportunities or what could have been or what i think i am not. i cannot sit and wonder and wait. i cannot sit back, in the dark, and architect my life from my bedroom, on my laptop, when real life is actually out there demanding to be lived and messed up and stumbled upon.
every few days i remember this. every few days i forget. there is so much noise and so much grief and so much designed to keep us distracted, dreadful, and discouraged. LOCK IN! KEEP TRYING TO LIVE THE LIFE IN FRONT OF YOU BECAUSE THE TRYING IS WHAT MATTERS!
recently, from my journal
may 24, 2025, 9:00am
in my neighbor's tree outside my window, there are stellar's jays raising a family. i'm familiar with the mama, she's loud and sassy, her hair always done. a month ago, i could hear teeny tiny tinny cheeping, like bells if they were hungry. that's how i found out she was a mother, and that it was spring. a few weeks ago, i saw little grey morsels bouncing through the branches to the fence and back to the leaves. when i looked closer, i could see their little heads of down spiked into tips, just like their mama. on tuesday, a gardener came and cleared the front lawn and trimmed the branches, and downed an old tree 20 feet away. i can smell the sap in the wind. i've been too in my brain to say hello to my tiny neighbors so when the chainsaw sang, i hoped and prayed their home was safe. the babies must have flown the nest by now, but this morning i've seen two jays (or the same jay twice) with mouthfuls of nest fodder bouncing through the branches to the fence and back to the leaves.
in the house next to the tree, a newborn baby cries. the mothers coo in the warm afternoons. their songs mix with the sap as the breeze rolls by. one mother gardens, while the other nurses– nesting. i wonder if they know that they are in good company. that the jays can help them build if they let them. that this mothering dance is ancient and new and gathering sticks and losing sleep and singing when it's safe. i hope to knock on their door or peek over the fence one day to introduce myself. for now, i just pray their home is safe.
-
as i've been writing this, i've googled so much about stellar's jays and also have just been admiring this couple build their nest. they have lines of electric blue down their face, which i'm lucky enough to admire as they sit on the fence and survey where to go next. they've gathered each twig one at a time and sometimes grab chunks of mulch or some other soft heap of something. there's a big one and a little one, and these jays build their nests in pairs. they enter the tree from a hole in the top or work their way up from the trunk. their feathers are a royal iridescent blue. i feel so lucky. i hear my partner waking up to our alarm clock that sings recorded birdsong at 9am. i'll start my day and say hello. <3
since then, i've finally peeked my head over the fence and met my human neighbors and their newborn baby. they shared an invitation to pick fresh oranges from their backyard whenever i'd like. i offered to dog-sit, if they ever need. maybe on the baby's first birthday i'll share this journal entry. or tomorrow? or i share with them a card for them to open on the baby's first birthday with this inside? life is so precious. i am trying to be a better neighbor