now, page 2

 

in things i never thought would happen: i turn 46 today.

i’ve officially survived 45 years on this planet.

the last month or so has felt like an intermission, a half time, a full performance review, a save point, a big ending. i’ve been at home, alone, at my desk, deep in hermit mode. headphones in, world blocked out, stacks of journals on every flat surface.

to know me is to know that i always have three things on my person at any given time: a journal, a book, an emergency joint.

there’s been a lot of responses over the years. the book usually gets an eye roll. the emergency joint makes friends. the journal though- the journal is most often a point of contention.

is that like…your diary? 

do you, like, actually write in it?

what are you even writing? who cares? that’s dumb. who’s going to read that? what are you, some kind of snob? isn’t that only for teenagers? 

the number of absolute imbeciles that have so clearly and loudly and quickly declared themselves NPC that i don’t even have to acknowledge the existence of? GLORIOUS. thanks for taking the trash out for me.

my journals have literally saved my life over the years, so off is the direction and all the way is how far you can get to fucking.

when i was in the middle of a domestic violence marriage headed for divorce, my journals reminded me YES, it is that bad. NO, you’re not making a big deal out of nothing. YES. you are in danger. NO, you’re not lying to yourself.

when i was going through *all the death* my journals helped me stay sane.

when covid hit and i was locked away in a 400sq foot apartment, alone, for way too long…journals.

i can’t lie to myself. it’s hard to listen to other people, there’s always a loophole or an explanation or a reason they don’t *REALLY* understand. but it’s hard to ignore myself. hard to tell myself i’m wrong. hard to argue with someone who’s never, ever, wrong. (for the record, i initially typo’d “wrong” and almost let it stay in for the irony, but, alas, the never being wrong thing…)

journals have helped me track memories during times when my brain wasn’t doing the job. journals have helped me track growth and progress and change.

heading into my 46th year, my guides asked me to go back and dig through my journals, the last two years specifically.

and i did.

whew.

you really can’t lie to yourself.

the last two years have been a doozy.

the only things that stayed the same in the last two years: my car and my credit card debit.

everything else changed.

i changed my main job and added a second job. two years of 6 days a week.

i changed apartments. a whole year with no dead bodies.

i tried a partnership. good news: i still know how to leave a toxic abuser.

i let go of old friendships. when people show you who they are, believe them. 

i gained new friendships. when you’re the most yourself, you’ll find the right people.

i let go of stella. is she really gone if her hair is still woven into every sweater and blanket?

i changed hairstyle. the mullet phase was…whew.

i changed jeans. I CHANGED JEANS. may another pair of skinny jeans never smother my ass or strangle my calves again. praise be to the old navy straight leg denim gods.

those are the bench markers. the milestones. the visible moments captured on page.

more than that, more importantly to me, the things you couldn’t see or measure.

i’ve worked hard on my mental health my whole life. from my first counseling appointment in 1994 til now, it has been learning ways to figure out my brain. how to make it work, how to understand it. i’ve been to countless therapists in the last 32 years. the life coach that had a mental break down. the dude that couldn’t be trusted because he tucked his jeans in his boots. the gal that ended up using me as a therapist when her husband had an affair. the gal that saw my process for working through things, asked to use it with other clients, then quit and wrote a book. it’s been a lot of looking to others, reading articles, researching, digging for answers.

one thing that stood out the most in the last two years is the shift between that looking to others for answers and finally looking to myself.

re-reading through entries i could see and remember the times i was struggling the most, those times i was looking for answers. podcasts, tiktoks, apps, articles, influencers, anything, everything. there were entries of quotes and blurbs and other people’s ideas. where were mine? where was MY voice? where were MY experiences and thoughts.

and then i saw myself intentionally shift my writing to asking myself. i caught myself. then me saw the same thing now me is seeing. then me looked at the tools and experiences i already had, and used them. then me knew to start asking myself. as a second part of that, i could see the shift of writing FOR MYSELF instead of writing like someone someday might find it. i don’t know if i can properly explain that filter. my own journals, filtered. my own thoughts. my own experiences: filtered. because someday someone else might read it. anyone that’s ever kept a journal knows that thought. anyone with a sibling has probably lived that nightmare in real time.

but here? now? mid 40’s? alone in my own damn house?

they became even more _MY_ journals. because, if someone else did find them: 

a) good luck reading my handwriting

b) so what?

what do you mean so what?

I MEAN, SO WHAT?

if someone else does read it, either they’re an asshole who violated your privacy or they’re someone you trust. so, either way, SO WHAT?

and i started writing to myself. having true, honest conversations with myself. not hiding potentially embarrassing things. not glossing over hurtful things. not leaving out names or specifics. not vaguebooking myself (dear gods, my swiss cheese brain cannot handle any vaguebooking. I WON’T REMEMBER.) not dialing back extreme things. not dismissing. not shaming. not editing. just. writing.

i let all the voices out. i let the mean teenager voice out. i let the scared voice out. i let the angry voice out. i let the kind voice out. i let the judgemental voice out. i let the shameful voice out.

i let them all have their say. i let them all contribute to the conversation. i learned to recognize the voice based on the handwriting. yes, my handwriting changes for each voice. i can’t explain it, but holy fuck is it fascinating.

oh, anger is here. oh, fear is here. oh, trauma is here.

i can tell by the handwriting which voice is leading the charge and that has helped me learn how to respond to whatever comes out.

oh, the angry teenager? well, she’s mean as fuck, but she’s not wrong. she makes some solid, harsh, right to the point thoughts. let her rant, get it out. 

fear? how small can my handwriting get. you’re scrunching down pretty hard and gripping that pen pretty hard…maybe take a minute to look into that. what fear is it? is it real? how can we address it? you’re safe now, take a deep breath, now, look at it again.

the newest one? a handwriting i’ve only run across twice so far? trauma. letters and writing so stretched out it basically looked like a bad ekg strip. emotions that so badly wanted out but were so hard to get to the page. even on the page they didn’t want to be recognized. ooof. girl. that one caught me hard. i was able to make out enough of an entry to get the general idea/experience i was referencing, found the one other example of the handwriting, connected the two traumatic themes, presto, blammo: hello trauma. now when that writing shows up i can approach whatever thought it’s communicating with more care. more tools. more intention. 

by talking to myself openly and honestly, i was able to recognize a new piece.

from my own journal. from my own thoughts.

THAT’S INCREDIBLE.

ask me how i fucking feel about that for $120 an hour assholes.

through all that processing, through going back and reading things, i was able to make connections, see how things played out, put puzzle pieces together. i saw real time follow up’s and resolutions to things.

oh, that card pull in june warned me about sneaky people, hey look, july is when i had to remove some old friendships. big changes ahead- boom bam: new jobs. what do you mean trust my intuition and don’t let people convince me otherwise? oh, that is in fact, NOT my sweatshirt and it DOES very much have everything to do with us.

i was able to see all the beautiful things i’ve manifested in my life. my birthday intentions and how they played out over the year.

i could track the times when things felt strange or off and what followed that. how many times in the last 2 years did music and clothes and energies feel off? oh, when was that? oh, so i should just know in august that imma hate everything, every year.

going back over two years worth of journals was not an easy task. it took me several days and so many joints i had to empty the ashtray twice.

it was confronting that i had really glossed over how bad the partnership was from the jump.

it was confronting the ending of friendship that hadn’t been mourned properly.

it was confronting my own behaviors and patterns that had kept me stuck.

addressing choices i had made and red flags i had intentionally ignored and taking ownership in the results.

it was comforting, frustrating, funny, sad, encouraging, joyful, grateful, so many different things.

most importantly, it was complete.

i reviewed everything right up to the present. i watched all the game tapes. i reviewed all the footage. i covered all the footnotes and addendums.

if i haven’t touched it by now? let it go. if something new comes up? i have the tools. i have the lessons. i have my own research archives for fucks sake.

half time is over now.

and now, page 2.

welcome to 46.

here's to turning 45

hello friends, it's been a minute.

i turned 45 on tuesday. that seems like a pretty good reason to put some thoughts on paper. or, for the first time in a long time, in print. there have been plenty of thoughts on paper this year. a few journals worth. time to put some of that out in the wide world again. why not?

forty five. forty fucking five. it's not that i never pictured getting here, i just kinda, never pictured getting here.

forty five means my oldest is 27 and my youngest is 22. it means i'm officially closer to 50 than 40. it means i'm undeniably an old. i mean. anyone with a birth year starting with 19 is some version of old. so. there's that.

 

forty four was a good year. it really was a great year. i started the year picking up sunday work at a crystal shop. CRYSTALS. i get to spend my sundays selling pretty things to people in a magical shop owned by a very smart business woman who is as kind and generous as anyone i've ever met. the sunday work was to pay for some medical care for stella. she gave me a good scare needing surgery for pyometria that also revealed a sex cord stromal tumor. that surgery was immediately followed by an antibiotic resistant UTI. whew. that was a lot of stress and a lot of cheeseburgers to take medication, but we made it through that and she’s still being the best little (well, 50 pounds) meatloaf ever. after the election, as with the world, a LOT of things shifted very quickly. i ended things with someone who had been an on and off again partner since 2017. it was time. a few weeks after that i switched my main job from the bookkeeping/spice store to a local independent bookstore. MY LIFE IS BOOKS AND CRYSTALS NOW. books and crystals. little me is so content. grown up me is a little worried about medical insurance, but overall it’s pretty amazing.

 

all the changes were terrifying. it was hard letting go of a partner who had been around since 2017. that's not an insignificant amount of time in my world. and the spice store had absolutely saved me at the end of seven months of unemployment and being literal days away from losing my apartment, my car, everything. they both had their place in my life. they both allowed me space to be myself, to put my life back together after empty nesting and covid and unemployment. to figure out who i am in my skin after the great mullet experiment. but it was time. and, as my lifetime trend seems to be: it's all at once or none at all.

BUT LOOK AT ME NOW BABY!!

as different as night and later that same night.

things look the same- same apartment. same little orange cooper. same chunky little meatloaf. same monday thru friday 9-5 (literally) desk job. well, and sundays 10-6. you get the gist.

but good heavens.

it has been a journey.

in the midst of *waves at everything in general*

it has been a hard journey. an intentional one. an uncomfortable one. a fun one. an adventuresome one.

do you know how hard it is to stay on point for a full year working 6 days a week, with no back up plan, when 85% of the time your brain is telling you that maybe existing just isn't for you? and the other 15% of the time it's stressing about finances? and the other 15% of the time it's wondering if you'll ever have a social life? while the other 15% of the time it's yelling at you for not doing enough- not working out enough, not reading enough, not going out where the people are enough, not learning enough, not fixing your own brain enough. while 15% is trying to keep the deep sads that fuck up your sleep schedule at bay enough to be able to keep a good schedule and make it to work every day? and the other 45% of the time it's a running commentary on all your flaws and all the ways you're screwing up and all the ways things are just waiting to come crashing down? i'm not sure, but i think that's more than 100%. which explains why i'm tired all the time. but my skin care is ON POINT, so you'd never know. 

not to toot my own horn, but *insert air horn noise* i do look good right now. i've mostly figured out my skin and acne is under control, finally. my hair has recovered from the mullet and the shaved sides and the horror grow out phases. there have been fewer box and can meals and more real home cooked meals. i've been walking to work off and on and some of (most of) my jeans are getting a little loose. not too shabby for 45 if i do say so myself. i even had someone hit on me at the bar the other night: he remembered me as the girl who worked at the bookstore who was really funny and smart and pretty. so. your gir's finally got it. just in time for perimenopause which i'm sure is just around the corner.

but things are going well. i HAVE kept it together the last year. i've made it to work all 6 days a week and even a few more than that. learned to keep a right reign on that real quick. a 6 day week turns into a 13 day week real quick and that's no bueno. i've keep my mental health in check. i’ve kept my schedule and my budget in check (mostly). i’ve taken my vitamins more than not and started drinking at least more water. i’m constantly working on how to process things in healthier ways. let go of some of the shame and the judgment and the constant critique. i've learned to allow the softness to take over. to be kind to myself. to lead with kindness (then match energy as needed). to just allow myself to exist in this world. to enjoy existing in this world. i've reconnected with cousins, i've had coffee with friends, i've had wonderful weekend trips and adventures. i've learned to appreciate good moments for the magical bubbles they are and to hold onto those. enjoy each bubble for what it is. appreciate the star and planet aligning magic that goes into making those moments. to be grateful for those moments above all. 

speaking of which: this has been a pretty incredible birthday week bubble. i went to missoula, montana last weekend as a sort of a half adventure half birthday trip. on my actual birthday, i went to a delicious steak dinner with my boss who showered me with lovely gifts. i am now the proud owner of a sloth ring and he’s exactly as magnificent as you’re imagining. last night was home made stew and pie with ice cream and a quiet night in watching movies and settling into the changing weather. this morning was a fantastic cup of coffee, nature documentaries, an extended everything shower and some left over cold pizza. not too shabby at all for old sherry.

i’m looking forward to 45. it’s a year of 9’s, it was the same calendar day as the year i was born, a tuesday. it was on the tail of a full blood moon lunar eclipse. that’s a lot of energy to start off a new year. it feels good. i feel good. the stories are coming back. the writing is coming back. i mean, look at me go! this is basically a novel after how long it’s been!

i have thoughts, ideas, things i’ve learned, things i am learning, and i’m learning to tell my inner critic to ease up and just put SOMETHING out there. if all you do is worry about who isn’t going to like what you have to say, you’re missing the point. write for you. easier said than done. i’m working on it. but it feels good to be back. here’s to 45. 

thirtyseven words

well, now that the ball is rolling, i may as well dump some of the *actual* stuff that's been rattling around my head lately.

i turned 37 a few days ago. my brother would have turned 35 yesterday. it's a weird time of year anyway- anniversaries i'm not keen to remember. getting older. weather changing.

this year it's particularly brutal.

i realized a while ago that i'm smack dab in the middle of possibly the most classic mid life crisis of all time:

the oldest child is out of high school and attempting to make his way in the adult world. he's 2 years older than i was when i had him.

the youngest child has started high school and is, almost frantically, searching for ways to be more grown up (not a bad thing- his list includes taking better care of himself/his clothes, maintaining grades for college, and a girlfriend). 

i sold my house, i quit my job, i bought a car because it's pretty, i've added to the tattoos, even took a trip to vegas. i have a pool, all i need is the pool boy and the mid life bingo boxes will all be checked.

i've been spending my days watching all the movies in my disney collection and spending money that i probably shouldn't be. BUT IN MY DEFENSE, I REALLY NEEDED THOSE TATTOO BOOKS.

not so long ago my oldest brother made a comment about my tattoos, hair color, being "one of those letters," i can't remember which. he usually is able to hit on all of them at some point in his notoriously short conversations. i remember this time thought that he referred to me as being rebellious.

"DUDE, i'm in my 30's. i'm a mom. WHO AM I REBELLING AGAINST?"

at a certain point, maybe, doubtfully, he'll realize that i'm just me. 

which made me think: how many "rebellious" teenagers are just people that managed to discover their true self early on in life and learned to BE THAT PERSON, even if it required struggle and labeling and misunderstanding?

when my oldest son was born the doctors and nurses laughed at my black nail polish- "...it's making the baby go crosseyed."

they laughed at the "phase" i was going through.

my son is now almost 20 and my nails are still black. 

that's a helluva phase.

i just wish i was as bold and sure in life as i have been about my nail polish.

i wasn't a rebellious teenager. i literally sat in my closet reading books as a kid (it sounds weird, but if they can't find you, they can't bother you). i went to church every sunday and wednesday without arguing. i did dishes and kept my room clean. i did my homework and maintained a decent GPA.

now, that's not to say i didn't have a rebellious streak- i quit piano lessons because the assholes kept shoving me in competitions playing classical music when all i wanted to do was learn honkey tonk and rag time and just PLAY.

i got suspended from high school my freshman year but it was because i was being bullied and had my life threatened numerous times and no one would listen until i tried to come up with (the wrong) solutions myself.

i spent my senior year pregnant because FINALLY, FOR ONCE a boy liked me and "friends" told me the only way to keep a boyfriend was to have sex with him...they just forgot the condom part of that discussion.

i didn't seek trouble, i wasn't trying to make any points, i wasn't trying to BE anything special. trouble still found me though. that is one thing i've always been exceptional at. you need anything beta tested? want to test the durability on something? have an idea you're not sure if it's good or not? hit me up. no one is ever completely worthless. you can always be held up as the bad example. goofus always looked like he was having a better time than gallant anyway. suck and egg.

looking back, i'm honestly jealous of those "rebellious" teenagers- imagine being that bold and confident in who you are as a young person that you're willing to go against the crowd. yeah, maybe at times some of them were just being shitheads. but probably the majority were just trying to be themselves. and yes, as they've grown they may have left certain parts of that behind- stopped shopping at hot topic, taken a piercing or two out, taken a corporate job "for the man," but maybe some chased their dreams with confidence. maybe some became confident leaders. maybe some became the game changers and the perspective shifters we've all come to look to when things get shitty.

circling back, i want to be that bold.

i wrote myself a stoner note the other day:

figure out how to be stoner you all the time. the one that yells at wheel of fortune and says the things you think. be the person that writes about being so old you pee a little when you take a particularly good hit. be the person that is open and honest and not over analyzing every. single. thought. be the person that says things. start the awkward conversations. talk about the embarrassing topics.

stoner me is wise.

stoner me also really likes to dance, much to the dismay of anyone within viewing range.

circling back again, thirty seven is starting off weird. my mid life crisis is bumming me out. unemployment isn't all it's cracked up to be. i'm not a rebel, but i wish i knew how to be. i also wish i knew what i wanted to be when i was growing up. that information would be useful right about now. but that's a whole other topic that's been rattling around.

where i get it

my dad was born april 5, 1955 in akron, ohio.

he would have been 59 this year.

almost 60.

i honestly don't know what 60 looks like. it seems like people are either close to my age (27-69) or OLD (70+). i'm lousy at guessing ages. but 60. my dad would have been 60. 

i don't know how he managed to be born in akron, ohio but raised in anaheim, california. i don't know way too many things about him. i do know his dad died in 1962 when my dad was 7. i know he was an eagle scout. i know he was part of a baptist church youth bell choir.

that's about it.

what i DO know is that my dad would drive from the yakima valley to spokane every year for my birthday in my adult years and take me out to a nice dinner. since his death i've claimed april 5 as steak and beer day in his honor. he can't take me out to dinner on my birthday anymore, but i sure as hell can enjoy his favorite meal on his birthday for him.

i never appreciated his driving 2.5 hours each direction for my birthday when he was around to do it. this year the small spawns adopted grandparents drove to spokane for his school concert/birthday dinner. about 2.5 hours. i truly appreciated it. i managed not to snot myself during dinner, but i sure snotted all over the car on the way home from dinner.

some people are just...amazing.  you know?

my dad was a grizzly bear. as kids we had to draw the short straw to wake him up for work. he was not a morning person.

that's where i get it from.

he also snored like a cartoon character. i still swear that if he wore socks when he slept you would have been able to see them blow back and forth when he snored. you possibly could have seen the walls of the house flex in and out too.

that's where i get it from.

one of the very last things i learned about my dad was that he loved musicals- chicago in particular.

that's where i get it from.

that whole side of the family- the miller side- not exactly a petite genetic structure.

that's where i get it from.

my dad loved all things related to a good steak dinner.

that's where i get it from.

my dad had some great sayings too-

"close the door, you're letting all the bought air out."

"wow. your legs go all the way up to your hips."

"i don't mind if you work at a stip club. just let me know which one so i'm not surprised."

he always called my brothers either "fuzz nuts" or "son" without exception.

he whistled john denver songs on car trips.

he always stopped at long horn bbq on his way out of town.

and best of all- he knew he had made plenty of mistakes in his life like we all do. he told me his job wasn't to judge me, it was to be there and help pick me up when i fell on my face.

i hope i get that from him.

happy birthday dad.