DLM Johnson's Blog

Six years ago while on a mini-vacation in South Lake Tahoe for the 4th of July, I found myself unable to sleep. To help calm my mind, I started to text my friend (who worked graveyards) a story. Being the always encouraging human he is, he wanted me to keep telling him more of the story. So, over the next several weeks, I would keep adding on. Eventually, he mentioned that maybe I should actually start writing my story in an actual document. So, I took my words and copied them into a document.

I was honestly surprised to see that I already had a couple of pages of a story. Then, me being the silly goose that I tend to be, mentioned this to my mother (who just happens to be an author with several books out… some of you may know her: D.L. Finn). Anyway, so I kept slowly adding to my story, finding myself enjoying the characters that were being formed.

So, when I made my way back to Minnesota to watch a dance piece I had set on a local company earlier in the year, I mentioned to my friend that I was starting a book. She immediately asked if she could read what I had, and so I obliged, handing over what I had so far while we waited for our food and sipped on some drinks.

Her reaction was pure excitement.

“Someday I’m going to be able to say ‘I know her! And I was one of the first people to read it!’”

Yes. This is very true. And, for a while, I was convinced that I would never reach the day that I would be ready to finally publish my words. Why? Because writing is fucking hard! Knowing that people, strangers are going to be reading your words, judging them, misunderstanding them, finding their faults… WHAT WAS I THINKING!?

But… then I would imagine it. The characters. The scenes. I would picture it like a movie. And I wanted it to be real. I wanted to give it life, so I continued pushing forward. It was hard, but there were no deadlines, so I didn’t worry about it much. Then, I finally reached the end. I was relieved. I could breathe. It was done!

Then I was told I needed to pass it around for people to beta read.

WHAT?! What do you mean “beta read”?! THIS IS PURE PERFECTION! (Don’t worry. It’s all just protective hubris.)

Let me just tell you now, that first round of feedback is the most debilitating. The most disheartening. The most helpful.

I wanted praise. I wanted to hear my work would do great out in the world. I wanted to know that I was done. SPOILER ALERT: It was so far from done. The funny thing is that the most upsetting feedback I got was, “I can’t wait to read it when it’s done!”

Excuse me?! It is done! That is an entire 100k word book!

I actually had to take a step away from my work. I had gotten too attached to the ideas I put down. Too attached to the characters. My husband, who is actually quite adept at finding inconsistencies, read it, giving me lots of feedback. Feedback which I did not take well. Why? Because this book was my baby. It was delicate. It was raw. And all I wanted was for people to tell me it was great.

So, in the end. I took a step away from my work for a bit. I knew I was just being dramatic, but it was like being told my thoughts were dumb (I know, I know. Imposter Syndrome is a bitch.) When I was finally ready to come back to it, I started by finding someone to create a cover on Reddit. We communicated back and forth for a bit discussing what existed in my mind, and what I got back was absolutely delightful. Ah, yes. Shit was getting real. Then, I found an editor. I was eager to send off my work. One step closer.

When I finally got my work back, it was March of 2021. Life was chaotic. I figured I’d get around to it at some point. And, when I did, editing was so much easier. Not only had I given my words time to settle, but because I had set it off, I could just tell myself the parts that I didn’t like were the changes made by the editor (often not the case, by the way).

So, now here we are. Finally at this place of my work being ready to release into the world. Fly, baby bird. FLY!

If you so choose to read my words, I hope you enjoy at least parts of them. I hope it releases you temporarily from this world and plunges you into another. And, if you find yourself wanting more, know that I have indeed planned out a second book, and hopefully it won’t take another six years to reach its end. But, who knows!

Go ahead and pre-order the kindle version now! Print copies will be available for purchase on May 19. If you want a signed copy... we'll figure something out.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09ZLLW675

But only if you're ready or your doctor says it's a must.

WHAT?!

I know. It's confusing and scary and all of the things. That's part of why it took me over 3 years to commit to starting an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety regimen that didn't involve diet, exercise, and natural supplements.

The other part?

I'm stubborn as shit. I wanted to fix myself on my own.

"I CAN DO IT MYSELF!" shouted the Taurus in me.

And you know what? I did pretty damn good for a long time. I learned to cope and manage.

But I also learned to bury my emotions and tell myself I was just overreacting.

If you've read my other blogs, you know that my therapy journey didn't start because I felt like I needed therapy. But you know what? We all need therapy.

Why?

Because there are so many triggers and stimulations and emotions and unexplained things that we are constantly dealing with, and sometimes we aren't even aware they're going on.

For example, last year I spoke with my doctor about how I don't recover when I stop doing cardio. Like... it takes a good chunk of time. So, she prescribed an inhaler and an allergist. The inhaler is probably the dopest thing I have ever used, and I can't even begin to describe how nice it is to breathe.

Makes sense, yeah? How could I not know, right??

Well, because my mother didn't know she also has asthma. Nor did my sister. So our inability to breathe was just normal. It was how we dealt with things. I didn't end up wheezing on the ground like some of my friends with worse asthma, so I figured it was all fine.

But you know what? It could have been better.

And this leads me to my journey of starting Lexapro.

2019 was a constant barrage of loss. I thought I actually dealt with it pretty well. Therapy for sure helped. Paul and I discussed how depression is often a chemical imbalance of the brain, but just talking about needing to take something made me feel like a failure.

It's so easy for someone from the outside to see our struggle, but in our own little bubbles of despair, it's so easy to get lost and be stubborn and scared.

I was doing mostly alright during all the 2020 bullshit until we lost Ash. That was a big blow I wasn't ready to handle. And it came right at the time of changing jobs (which I'm not entirely sure if that helped or hurt the situation).

Anyway, that lead to poor diet, gaining 20 pounds, stressing about a new job, feeling worthless, spiral, spiral, spiraling!

So, Paul gently prodded, trying to get me to take something. I, of course, stubbornly refused, though I did bring it up to my therapist. She asked if I wanted to take something, and I said no. I was just starting weight loss and exercise programs. I wanted to try those first.

So, I did. And I lost weight. And I felt stronger. And I felt less depressed. But what I didn't feel was my massive anxiety going away.

Usually, I have anxiety and depression together. Often the depression is worse, but the anxiety was definitely winning out. And that difference only grew as I got healthier in my body.

So, I made the decision to talk to my therapist. One thing I need to make abundantly clear is that she spent the time to make sure this was something I wanted. "If you're doing it for someone else, it's not going to help. This has to be your decision. Something that you want to do."

And, she's right. I never would have accepted the results had I done it for someone other than me. I would have questioned if there was more I could have done. I would have regretted it and maybe even held a grudge. But the thing that pushed me the most was having a job that actually made me want to do better. To be better. It's so easy to sway people around you all the time. But to want to do it for you? Whoa. So if someone is actually pressuring you and they're not a doctor, maybe try to set some boundaries. And if your therapist is trying to force something on you and you don't feel comfortable, maybe find a new therapist... Anyway.

The next step? Talking to my primary doctor. This was simple because we had already previously discussed this option, so it was just a phone call to figure out dosage and schedule a follow-up to check-in.

So, that day, I started. The first 5 days were rough. I couldn't sleep, but I also needed to sleep at random times (aka lots of naps). I had a headache. I didn't want to eat. I felt wonky, but I also felt things. The first two weeks (a half dose and then a full dose) consisted of me needing to nap for at least 20 minutes after taking my pill, but then I would mostly be ok to go through my day. My body felt a little heavier than it normally did, but my mind felt light.

After I started feeling better, I was informed that a couple of my humans had been worried and wanted to know the best way to help me. They did some research and kindly discussed how to help me without stressing me out more. The best way? Be patient. Be supportive. Just let us know you're there. Don't try to change us. Don't try to "make us better". That really has to be our journey. And sometimes it's a journey we didn't realize we'd been on for years.

For example, I noticed about two weeks in how long anxiety had been affecting my life. It wasn't just recent years, it was at least since my early adolescent years.

I started testing out what would make me feel anxious, but then I also struggled a little bit with that because experiencing no anxiety makes you not as great at dealing with it the next time. Think of it like stepping out into the cold from a hot shower. When you get back in, that hot shower that you had gotten used to might now burn your skin until you get used to it again. It's not a forever thing, it's just a getting used to thing.

Trust me. You're totally capable. How do I know? Because you've likely gotten used to anxiety and depression like I did. So you didn't realize what the normal, outside world could feel like. You didn't know that you might actually be burning yourself, but you'd become so numb, so used to it, that you didn't realize.

Anyway, I really just wanted to put this out there because I know how much of a struggle it can be. I absolutely support my friends and family getting help and prescriptions, but I couldn't do it myself because there were so many questions.

With that, if you do have questions, please reach out. To me. To your doctor. To your therapist. To your friend. Someone. Talk it through. See if it is something you are ready for.

And, so. I leave you with one last thing. A lovely song from one of the shows that holds a special place in my heart. I hope you enjoy it and remember to give yourself some grace.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OG6HZMMDEYA

This latest fad going around... At first, I laughed, whether out of disbelief or at how true I thought it was.

But in reality, these memes and posts are precisely the issues.

There is a great divide that exists right now. While the majority of it appears to be in the United States, it is absolutely not contained to our little bubble.

Everyone is so focused on not being included in a certain label. Whether it be Republican or Liberal or Snowflake or Antifa or...

It's funny. When I first started therapy, I was so angry with labels. Then I went through a phase of realizing that labels can be good when they give someone a home. When they give someone answers to why they feel like they don't fit in.

But therein lies the actual issue. The fact that some people feel like they need a label to call out like-beings so they don't feel alone or lost. That is the issue.

We spend so much time trying to fit in because society has programmed us to believe there is a norm. That there is a right and wrong way to support your country. That there is a better race. That there is a better politician.

Right and wrong don't work that way. You know what's wrong? People dying because we refuse to help. You know what's wrong? People losing their homes because we refuse to help. Because our "leaders" refuse to help. Because money and materials have become more important than human lives. Because our words and saying we believe in an idea is more important than actually understanding that it needs action.

I don't give a shit about how Christian you are if you're condemning lives after arguing with me that "All Lives Matter". Mkay. So prove it. Tell me that the homeless person trying to live in the woods behind your house deserves to live. Tell me about how 6, 9, 12 months ago they had a job and were let go because of a pandemic, but now they're no longer worthy of living.

Tell me how your God told you it was ok to praise a false idol. I know that orange skin can be confused for gold, but... oh, wait... You shouldn't be hung up on material items either!

So, what do we need? Togetherness. Humanity. To remember that to be alive is to be the same. To remember that what makes us different and unique is what makes us better.

Nothing will ever improve if we all try to be the same, think the same, act the same. But you, in your breathing, living self, are the same as every other breathing, living thing around you. You are not better. You are not worse.

It absolutely blows my mind that people don't realize that.

I recently took a test on biases around skin color. It was very black and white (ha.... ha....), but it was also very telling. My results? I am slightly more inclined towards people of color. Me, a friggin pale ass white chick, trusts a person of color more than a white person. Why do you think that is?

Well, let me just break my experience down for you a little bit.

White men, in particular, think they are owed something. They think they deserve to just take whatever the fuck they want. Why? Because that's how America was founded. GIVE THE RICH WHITE MAN WITH LAND WHATEVER HE WANTS! WOMEN ARE PISH POSH! THEY CANNOT HAVE A RATIONAL THOUGHT.

Naw, son. You just mad that we think things through and thwart your half-assed ideas that have no follow-through. That's why we have amendments to the constitution. WE CHANGE. WE LEARN FROM OUR MISTAKES. WE BECOME BETTER PEOPLE.

Let me just swing this back around to politics since everyone is so fucking obsessed with their "party". Back in the '70s, Biden said some shitty racist shit. Why? It was the way things were and he's honestly a little too spineless to have done anything other than try to please the people (yeah... I still voted for him).

The difference? He changed his way of thinking. He never really fully owned up to the things he said in a way that makes me feel better, but Kamala is his slimy politician way of saying "oopsy poopsy! all better!"

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that we are all in this together (*cue HSM*), and if we keep spending our energy on trying to show how we're not the same, we will never be able to come together and celebrate our humanity and uniqueness at the same time.

Like, legit.

We need people to think differently. But we also need to have fucking compassion towards human lives. No one lived the same story as you. No one experienced the same things. But trauma is trauma. Your body doesn't give a shit how it happened, it just knows that it did.

So stop pretending that you're better than those other people, and start acting like you are a human living on a planet with other living beings.

I thought we had 5 more years. The number my brain so selfishly set before I thought I'd need to prepare for your loss.

Now, I feel a vice wrapped around the very essence of my core. A squeeze in my heart. The walls of my chest being crushed.

I watched you last week. Your behavior changing ever so slightly. Between the chaos of everything else, I worried.

"Stop it," I told myself. "2020 is just making you paranoid. She's fine."

Then, instead of begging to lick my bowl after I ate breakfast, you simply sniffed it and went to lay down.

Sometimes you're picky if I add honey.

"Tomorrow," I thought to myself. "Tomorrow will have fruit. You'll want it then."

But the voice in the back of my mind pointed out that there was still food left over from that morning. The chunks untouched. Just a few days ago, that would never happen.

Then the end of my week finally came. I was distracted by my own worries. My body struggle against a sinus infection. My mind processing big changes.

But I noticed that you barely licked your food. You disappeared after instead of coming to sit with me on the couch.

A few minutes later, I heard you crying for water. Relief.

Then, you came back out to sit near me in the couch. It was enough to temporarily ease my worries.

Then lunch came around. I had errands to run. I was distracted. I felt off. I forgot to feed myself. But... once again... I offered you a new plate of food. You ignored it, begging for water.

I knew it was time to schedule an appointment at the vet. "What if it's diabetes and she has a seizure from her blood sugar dropping? What if it spikes? I'll watch her."

Then, I got hit with the peak of my sinus infection. I felt terrible. I couldn't sleep. I came to the guest bedroom, hoping for some reprieve.

I felt you there. Lying beside me. I felt happy. Just for that brief moment. And I slept.

I continued to sleep my day away. Unsure of the world around me, but still conscious enough to know you still hadn't eaten.

The worry becoming more crippling.

"Can she make it to Tuesday? To the vet?"

On Sunday, I knew I couldn't pretend. You were sleeping, hiding, in a new place. You screamed for water, yet you never wanted to eat. Not even when I offered you some chicken.

You tried so hard to make me feel better. You choked down some of the turkey I offered you... only to throw it back up shortly after.

I knew then. You couldn't wait for Tuesday. I couldn't let you suffer because it was a holiday weekend.

So, off you went. You had to go inside alone. I know how much you hate that, preferring to hide inside my shirt. Pressing yourself tightly into my body.

Alone. For hours. Being poked. Prodded. Scanned.

They finally came back.

Cancer.

No. Not those words. Anything but those words.

"There's a large mass in her abdomen."

The rarest kind.

"Inoperable."

"Blocking her stomach...but not completely."

"Comfort of life."

"It's likely already spreading to her other organs."

My world suddenly crashing all around me. How do I breathe? Do I agree to let you go? No. I won't let you die alone. And I won't let you suffer.

They send home pain medication. They give you weeks left. Part of me hopes for more. The other part? It hopes you comfortably pass in your sleep. Painless.

You still won't eat. You are loving the pets. We'll keep coming to your safe, dark place to love you. There is never a question about that.

I'll keep giving you the pain medication. I'll keep you safe until you can't be present without the pain anymore.

You are my child. My first of my adult life. I love you with every part of my essence. So much so that it hurts just to be.

I sit on the couch, my legs stretched long, but you're not there to balance on them. Keep me warm.

This morning, the tears fell before I even left the bed. You weren't there to coax me out of bed. I thought I'd only be met with silence. Yet, you heard me. And you still ran to greet me, asking for water and pets.

I obliged with a teary smile. The squeeze in my chest choking me.

But there you were. Painting these last moments with your unique personality. Reminding me how much we love each other. You blink happily at me. Finding a way to touch me as you head back to your comfortable dark space.

How long do I let you keep up this charade that it's all ok? Do I have to make the choice to put you out of pain or do I let you find this end on your own?

You're back again. You heard dad get up. You greeted him, too. I see the painful hope painted across his face. My heart aches.

As long as my pain is greater than yours, I won't force your life to end. As long as you keep telling me you're OK, I'll do my best to be the same.

But I know the end is nearing. I know our time together can't exist on this plane for much longer.

But my love...our love... will never fade. You will always be the light of each day. You will always be the whisper in my ear. The warmth on my side. The purr against my flesh.

Nothing will replace that. The ghost of memories already seeping their way into everything I do... I'm trying not to be haunted by them... especially while you're still here.

I can't decide if it's better this way or worse. Like slowly phasing out an addiction. Ripping parts of me away with each unconscious realization that you used to be there.

Your brother is confused. He lays near you, wondering when you'll come back out. He wants to play. To clean you. To lay with you. But, I think part of him understands. He sniffs you over and over. Questioning me with his eyes.

You're more alert today, after some rest and pain medication. You ran when I opened a can of food, but, still. You won't eat. I can no longer tell if your cries are of pain or just out of habit. Were they ever out of pain or has it just been a slow discomfort?

We love you, baby girl. More than we could ever express. And, though these words are to help me through this final pain, I hope that somehow, someway, you feel their truth. That you understand the love we have for you. Forever and always.

And when your time comes, we hope that you fly high.

We love you, Ashlee. With all of who we are.

I find it interesting, reading the words I have written.

Lately, I have been trying to make it a weekly habit to participate in the Weekly Writing Challenge on HitRecord.

I try to be kind to myself, to not force the words to come. If my story is only 250 words, so be it. If it has a different edge to it, fine. (Yes. I still overanalyze and judge the words).

But I have found something interesting through this constant flow of my subconscious. Even though the stories are guided by a prompt of someone else's choosing, my strongest emotions still work their way through.

For example, this last week, the prompt was to write a story about a Kaiju. In the examples, there was a blend of destruction and chaos and the experience of those whose homes were destroyed by these supposed monsters, but none of those felt true to my heart. I thought about it for less time than I thought I was going to, and then the words found their way.

My monster was not a monster at all. It was a large creature that had ended up in a city full of scared people simply responding to its unknown origins. It meant no harm, yet, was badly wounded.

Sprinkled within my descriptions, I noticed my frustration with the lack of understanding for the unknown. I saw the very thing that had angered me so early in the morning gently spilling onto the screen in a way that people could connect without realizing.

The last few weeks, I've realized that this happens more often than I am aware of. Some weeks, I share my little stories with some friends and family. Depending on the responses (both by the people I send it to and those commenting on the site), it is shared more or less broadly.

There has been more than one time that I am surprised by the response. I wasn't expecting such strong reactions. I was simply speaking my truths and using the prompts as an anchor. It was not my intention to stir emotions in others, though, I can't say I minded. It's quite the compliment to have someone respond to something that I felt so deeply when I was writing.

Now, I'm trying to not let these compliments be my driving force because I wholly believe that the words I write need my truth behind them for my intention to be seen. If I let myself fall into pleasing everyone else, I lose that.

So, I take you to my latest revelation and the true purpose of this blog.

Recently, I finished a book that I started back in March. Don't get me wrong, the book wasn't bad. It was actually quite amazing. However, it spoke of a time that felt too close to what I was experiencing in my own world: The Time of Hitler. Before you start placing your assumptions that I am comparing our own current leader to Hitler, take a moment to follow me on this short journey.

The book was written from the experience of a man who had been discharged from the war and sent to lead a new life as a father and husband to a widow. His experiences of fear and oppression and the struggle to stay afloat, that's what felt too close to home. We are living in a place of fear of anyone that seems different than us.

If you immediately created a correlation of our president to Hitler, that's on you. I'm not asking you to compare him. I'm asking you to compare the experiences of immigrants. Of people of color. Of the homeless. Whether or not I compare the president to Hilter in my free time is for me to know, and for you to ask if you don't already know and have an intense need to.

Ok. Jumping off my soapbox. Back to my point.

So, this book. At the end, there was a note from the author. She explained that there was a specific event that forced her to finally move forward in writing and publishing the book. She had been thinking about it for years before finally taking the dive.

While I was finishing that book, a book I had long forgotten shoved its way back into my life. This was a book that was leaked some twelve years ago. The author was so disheartened by it. She felt betrayed and was unsure if she would ever finish. I tried to put myself in her shoes. I tried to imagine someone blatantly stealing my art and trying to get a buck from it.

While I understand that this first book I am writing holds none of that glory, it's still painful to think about.

So, this book from the past. A book that I consumed over and over when it was leaked (the author shared an incomplete version to her website after some hard speculation)... I had completely forgotten.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, it was buried. I saw the title and a part of me went, "Wait... don't I already have this?" I didn't have it. But a piece of me knew it, and I couldn't find the energy or time to figure out why.

So, I purchased it. I started reading. It took a page or two before I realized that I knew the words. I didn't just know them from the previous books in the series. I knew these words. That's when I realized I had read them some twelve years before.

Now that you're along with me on this journey, I'll let you know that the book is Midnight Sun. It is part of the Twilight series but from Edward's point of view. I said it fifteen years ago, and I continue to say it now, I adore book Edward. The movies don't capture the depth woven into the words of the story. And, I get it. Someone saw a tween romance about a sparkly vampire and ran with it.

I didn't see it that way, so I'm still hella salty about those movies. Yes, they got slightly better as they went on, but I still prefer the version that plays in my head.

So, what the fuck is my point?

My point is, as I have been reading (and listening) to the latest Twilight book, I realized something. I was experiencing. I was living. I was part of the words on the page. It made me wonder what my own characters would be doing right now. It made me want to love the words I keep trying to share.

It was a new sensation. I've been finding ways to avoid sharing them (my characters) with the world for the last four years. And, why? Well, fear. Disappointment. Anxiety.

So, yesterday, for the first time in a while, I looked over my words. And I didn't just look at them with a technical eye looking for mistakes, I paid attention to what I was feeling. I wanted to find the love I feel for my characters in the words on the page. So, I started to add in bits and pieces of who they are. How I want them to be seen by the world. I allowed them to come to life more. I didn't feel the need to hold part of them back in protection of the naysayers.

Just as is with life, I can't protect everything and everyone around me. At some point, things have to just move on as they will. People will have to fend for themselves. My characters will have to become their own powerful existence. I can't be there to defend and explain things along the way.

I accept that there will be people that don't grasp what is there. And there is always a possibility that my words will be transformed to a screen that will remove some of the depth hidden within those words, but if I can find a way to make people fall in love with the story, then it won't matter.

There will always be someone willing to stand up for my words. Someone to defend the validity behind them. Just as I have done, and will continue to do, with the Twilight books.

I want to be able to say that I simply write for me. I write to heal. I write to express myself. I write to maybe share some wisdom with other people.

I want to be able to say that I don't care how many people actually look at what I've written. That the numbers mean nothing.

But, they do.

I notice when something has been liked less than something else. I start to spiral, wondering what I could have done differently to make people like it more.

I sit in that slump for a while. Desperately grasping for validation from people that I probably don't even know.

Then, I lose the desire to share my words. In whatever platform that may be.

Luckily, I have given myself multiple outlets where I can at least start something that seems promising.

When I first start writing a story, there is nothing to be lost. If I share it with people, it leaves them wanting more. They encourage me to continue, so I do.

Then it turns into a true story. I start to panic that I've left something crucial out. I worry that it's not believable. I stress that it's not living up to whatever standards were set when I first shared it with whomever.

Another story lost. Waiting for me to return.

Great. I'll move on to something else.

The healthiest outlet I've found for myself has been HitRecord. It provides me with small projects that I don't necessarily have to follow up on. The people are often encouraging and responsive.

However, we fall back into the "how many people liked this". They have a system of "hearts", as well as "featured works", and "highlights". I constantly struggle between the line of "is this good enough to share" and "I'm doing this for me. I need to write to improve".

It's a scary place to be, and I really appreciate the version of me that writes for me. As selfish as that might be, that's ultimately what it is.

I am writing to work through some trauma or question or indescribable emotion. I am writing to tell a story that is really allowing me to become someone else, even just temporarily. I float between creating my own characters and using existing ones to play off. I like to capture something that is relatable to the humans who know that fandom while allowing my imagination to live it.

So, once again, I find myself at this crossroads. I am frustrated that I care about how many people have looked at something. I lose the will to keep writing. And, why?

Well, honestly, it's because I think that there is something worthwhile in the words I'm sharing. I think there is something that can be taken from what's there. No, it's not the best written work to ever exist, but there's still something there I need to share.

Even if the impact is that you started to think about the characters and the setting and have decided it's not believable, at least I got you thinking. Why is it not believable? What is it that upset you?

This thought of why I write has been tickling the back of my mind for a few days now. I didn't realize it was there as the stress of other things in life took over the forefront of my mind. But, there it is. In the quiet distractions of mindless work, they snuck through.

The simple comment of a friend saying, "I miss that character. I need to finish reading so I know what happens."

The importance of what is behind that statement. Of what that means to my work. The fact that this character allowed enough of an impression that they are missed once they are no longer prominent.

So, I suppose that is to say that I am looking to find purpose through my written word. Especially in these times when it's so hard to find a place to have a voice.

I find my purpose through my words. These words spark my creativity, they open the doorway to express what I'm feeling. I know this is one of my strengths, and that's why I take such pride in sharing a lot of my words.

It gives me such a great sense of purpose to know that I can have some sort of an impact just by (mostly) eloquently putting some words together and sharing my thoughts.

As I allow myself to be more open and honest with my thoughts on something, I find that my writing becomes lighter, less timid, more expansive to what it is that I'm trying to share. Instead of working to create a scene between characters, the scene fills itself out. It effortlessly creates a space for me to work with.

I can flow and create and come back later to hate it. Or to love it. Or to decide that it could be better.

But it's all just me. An imperfect human working through something. So, I will continue to start by loving my work for me, and maybe that love can continue to spread to things around me.

It's interesting to see how everyone deals with stress differently.

Throughout this quarantine, I have watched people go through an entire array of emotions. I, myself, have experienced an array of emotions.

I find that I'm exhausted with no reprieve. How does one take a break from the very world we live in?

I keep waiting for that sense of hope. That moment when we band together and realize that we are all humans trying to survive this.

I catch glimpses at times. Often, it is shrouded by something horrible that calls us together. And, yet, with the distractions of everything going on, I wonder how much of that impactful moment will stick with us.

We are trying so hard to move forward that we are experiencing everything drastically while not allowing it to teach us what needs to be changed.

So much of what is happening is calling upon us to step up in new ways. It's scary. It's unknown. It could be something so magical.

Yet, fear has caused a strange uproar of losing our freedoms to the point of losing all sense of humanity itself.

The selfish "me" attitudes are blasted across the news and social media. There is no regard for the lives of others. It's so disheartening.

Yes, masks can be a pain to wear. But what is the cost of not wearing them?

I have heard so many, "Why do I have to wear a mask if they're not wearing a mask?" First of all, not everyone can wear a mask. There are actual medical conditions that prevent people from doing such. And those people are at a higher risk. They might not have someone to help them to take care of essentials like shopping. So we wear a mask for them. We wear a mask to protect the people at home who are at a higher risk. We wear a mask for those who refuse to.

I'm not quite sure where all these people get off deciding that it's their freedom to threaten and actually commit violent acts. If someone chooses to wear a mask to protect themselves and others, that's their choice. It's also your choice to not, but at least make sure you're educated in the area.

If a store chooses not to allow you in without a mask, that is also their choice. Not only are they trying to protect their essential workers, but also the customers who are unable to protect themselves. How is a mask in this situation any different than a statement of "No shirt. No shoes. No service."?

The things missing in this situation are respect and empathy. What in any of this makes it ok for you to belittle, attack, bully, etc people who are just trying to follow what is probably best?

It brings me back to school. All the people trying their best to follow the rules were goody-two-shoes who were incapable of ignoring the rules. Yet, on the other side, there were the people who refused to be brought down by the man!

Both were frowned upon. Yet both seem to paint the picture of where our country is now. We have extremes refusing to entertain the idea of the opposite side. We have good or bad. Black or white. Light or dark. There is no gray.

Why? What is it about the gray area that freaks people the fuck out? What is so scary about the balance of two extremes? The extremes exist to show us how far things could go one way or the other, but existing there indefinitely is exhausting. Even just watching someone do it exhausts me.

Let's take Star Wars as an example. If I were to ask who the good guys were, you'd undoubtedly say, "The Jedis!" Well, why? What is it that makes them good? The movies? The colors chosen to represent them?

And what about the Sith? What makes them bad? Why are the most well-known leaders the ones once drawn into the light?

If you're done trying to defend against something I haven't even said yet, feel free to continue on, otherwise, maybe just ignore this analogy.

Moving on!

My answer (also my opinion, so feel free to disagree) is that the extreme need to shut out the other side pushes us out. Anakin was pushed so hard to not become the Sith lord that prophecies predicted that he fulfilled just that. He was told not to love. He was pulled away from family. He was constantly reprimanded for thinking differently.

Same shit happened with Kylo. We feel the connection in his story to Vader because there is a psychological pain that we understand. We feel compassion for someone who should be evil! Why? How could we do such a thing?!

Well, because neither of them was inherently pure evil. Nor were they pure light. They were struggling to find a balance between the two, but neither were able to fully succeed in that. The light fought hard to bring them back. While the dark fought hard to consume them.

While the light seems more capable of rational thinking, the dark seems more consumed by the need for ultimate power. Yet, beneath it all, both sides just wanted to prove they were stronger. Better. Tiptop! It created chaos and evil on both sides. There was a struggle that was insanely deeper than just a fight between dark and light.

But can you imagine a story where instead of being told to resist the dark temptation and erase their personalities, Anakin and Ben were educated in working through their unresolved feelings? Where they were allowed to explore the extreme feelings they felt? The love? The hate? The confusion?

Now, in movies, that doesn't really make for great entertainment, but in real life, I think it's key. Even when we compare ourselves to characters on TV, we always think, "That one is me, except for these things I'm more like the other person." Well, yes. We are typically a blend of the extremes they show.

So, my point is, why are we letting a label of "our side" dictate shit ass behavior? I don't give a shit what you registered to vote as or what color your skin is, that doesn't make you better than anyone else. You know what does? Your actions. Your empathy. Your ability to at least listen to the opposition.

When we act out of fear because someone seems different than us, we create these evils. We create the extremes. It's part of what makes me hate labels so much. People want to make it all logical. 0 or 1. Yes or no. But humans are complex. We are not a machine built to use a binary language. We feel. We think. We understand.

So, in the end. Stop blindly following someone just because they have the same label as you. Use rational thinking. Research. Educate. Think beyond your immediate action. How does it affect the future? How does it hurt someone else? If you choose to hurt someone else, why are they lesser than you? Why is that ok? How would you feel if someone treated you that way?

What in the fuck happened to the Golden Rule!?

Treat others as you want to be treated.

Let's say that a little louder for those in the back.

TREAT OTHERS AS YOU WANT TO BE TREATED!

That doesn't mean just people you deem worthy based on their color of skin or social class or gender, that means E.V.E.R.Y.O.N.E.

Anyway, what I want to say is, be a little kinder to the human beings we are sharing this life with. It's fucking exhausting to constantly be waiting for the next round of bullshit. We need more hope to balance out the pain.

Even if you just say one kind thing to someone you maybe once treated poorly, that's a step forward that we didn't have before.

As we all stumble through this new way of life, I find myself grasping to stability. Something that will keep me grounded.

Now, for me, life didn't change much. I've already been working from home, and I live far away from things, so I don't get out much.

But the idea of being forced into our homes is what drives us mad.

Some of us need interactions with people. While some of us feel like we can finally breathe. I'm sure we will freak out once we've finished recharging.

Today, however, I find myself focusing on something else. Today marks the fifteenth year of being with my husband. Fifteen years since we stood in the parking lot outside of Ralphs and he asked me to be his girlfriend.

While I know you all want to hear, "I wouldn't want to be stuck in quarantine with anyone else!" The reality of it is, it's not quarantine. It's normal life with an overarching theme of impending doom.

So, yes. While I'm glad that I have my chosen partner to be stuck with, this whole thing sucks.

What I truly mean to say is that there is always something known, something comfortable amidst the chaos of everything happening. When you are struggling to hold on, find what helps to anchor you. Even if sometimes you want to punch that anchor in the gut.

Use this time to help remind you of the human connections that we've forgotten. Use it to see the fractures that have grown throughout the world. Use it to find the best version that you can be so we can come out of this stronger. More united. A true people.

And even if you can't go somewhere special to celebrate a significant time, remember that you can create new fond memories for the future. Create a story that will keep being brought up for years to come.

So, on this day, my fifteen years with my husband, I give part of myself to hopefully inject a little hope into what's going on. Even if just for a brief moment.

Stay healthy, my friends.

As the new year came around, I contemplated what it meant. We are constantly setting goals based on someone else's timelines.

New Year's Goals!

Summertime Body!

But, why?

Why do we need to wait for someone else's set times to improve ourselves into a better version of us? These timelines are constricting what we could become by allowing us to make excuses to put it off.

So, why can't I start today? What is wrong with today that makes it so I shouldn't make that one healthier choice?

I know a lot of it can be overwhelming. But, think about it. What goals do we usually set, especially at a new year?

LOSE WEIGHT!

Great. That's a very broad goal. What does it actually mean? Well, depending on where you currently are in your existing lifestyle, this could be overwhelming.

To lose weight usually means a complete lifestyle change. Diet. Exercise. More water. More sleep.

You need to know your body enough to understand cravings vs dehydration. You need to become aware of your comfort and coping foods. And, most importantly, you need to understand that there is no one perfect diet out there. #sorrynotsorry

After almost 2 years of committing to a complete overhaul of my eating habits and exercise choices, I am fairly decent at understanding what it is that my body wants and needs. I have struggled. I have fallen off the wagon. I have failed. I have gotten back up. I have re-evaluated what I'm trying to do more than once. What has helped me the most? A group of supportive people who understand that none of us are perfect, and you will undoubtedly fail.

But, we pick each other up. We share our stories. We find what works for us. We explain that what once worked probably no longer does. We talk about our goals. And we support and push each other.

Depending on your personality, you might need the competition of being "the best". Or you might just need someone to tell you to get off your ass and do it. Or you might just need to go with your own flow and move because it feels good. It's all ok.

Now, let's talk about one of the big pain points that people like to leave out. Our mental health. Holy guacamole does that play a part in all of this. That little voice that reminds us "You're too fat. You're too out of shape. You're too busy. You're a failure. You'll never succeed." Oh my lanta. It's a killer.

That is where daily goals come in. Maybe your health journey starts with "Today I will drink 40 oz of water and walk for 10 minutes." Your next goal can be to add in an extra vegetable with dinner. And then you can up your water. Then increase your walking breaks. If you miss one, OH WELL. Do what you can. If you get sick, FINE. Get yourself healthy. Drink extra water that day to make up for missing out on some moving around. Stand up. Stretch. Shake the skin off your bones like a dog. Just anything to remind your body that it's alive.

So, in short. What I want to say is, don't make such broad goals without a plan. It's perfectly fine to say, "My end goal is to lose weight and be healthier and stronger." But then you need to back it up with, "To reach my end goal, I plan to increase my water intake for 2 weeks. After that, I will add in light exercise for 2 weeks. Then I will start balancing my diet with more fruits and vegetables."

The key is to keep going. A goal to be healthy is never-ending. We all want to live a long time, so why not make our elder years more enjoyable by taking care of the vessel we will still have when there are no longer so many things holding us back?

Go out there. Conquer your world. Even if that just means doing one squat.

As I've been working on my own story, I found myself being slightly avoidant of reading other works.

Not because I felt mine was better, but because I was worried that I would feel that mine wasn't good enough to be let out into the world.

There was also a part of me that didn't want to unconsciously steal from other people.

Then one night as I lay feeling empty, I decided to find a book to help pull me away from my head.

I found one. I started to read it, and for just a moment, I felt whole. I felt inspired. I could see what it was that I need in my own work.

I didn't judge myself. I learned. I compared. I analyzed what I liked and what I didn't.

I found a new wave of creativity and jumped back into reworking my own novel. It took on a new, less judgemental life. It started to flow better. The characters had a purpose. I could see who they were, and I wanted to know them more.

Then life stepped in again. Taking from me. Pulling from the glimmers of hope and light I had struggling to grow.

I switched my focus to preparing for my Gyrokinesis certification (yes, I received my certification). 3rd time was the charm for getting there and completing a journey I had thought would reach its first in back in March.

At the news of yet another death shortly before I was meant to leave, I was convinced it would be taken from me again. But it didn't. I dealt with this death differently. I mourned. I let the emotions travel through me, and I released it back into the universe.

Two weeks later, I found myself finally sitting in a room with twelve people ready and willing to give and receive whatever we all had to offer. It was beautiful.

I often struggle to see my own worth, specifically with others. If I can't see my own worth, how can they think so much of me?

Needless to say, I was now in a room full of strangers who were accepting me and my energy. They wanted to be near me. They wanted to share my energy. They referred to me as happy and lighting up a room. I was flabbergasted. How could these people that just met me be saying things that people who have known me for years tell me?

It was a lot. I was forced to open my heart to be fully present, and it hurt. Lots of myself was exposed, and I wasn't entirely prepared for it. More than one night, I cried myself to sleep. Exhausted both from moving all day and from slowly opening this wall.

But I wasn't ready for it. And coming back to the real world with those cracks caused repercussions that ended in a place that no one wants to be. I struggled to find my worth more so than other times as of late. I wanted to be gone. I wanted to not feel the dark. I wanted to release my burden upon the people watching my struggle.

I didn't act upon it. I cried. I looked at Christmas lights. I begged their beauty and what they tried to represent fill me. And then I let myself feel. And it hurt. But I felt it.

And then I felt numb again. And I was ok with that for a brief moment.

Now I found myself in this last week. I had picked up another book. Something about it drew me there, and I wanted it to consume me, but the first chapter did anything but. I had to focus for it to draw me in. I got stuck on details. I couldn't let things just be. I fought it.

Then I reached about 40 pages in, and everything changed. I was instantly sucked into a story I had no idea I had been preparing for (I like to not read what the book might be about and rather see what is recommended and pick a title that sounds captivating).

I was thrown so completely into this story that danced around in my head with images that painted enough of a picture to let me create my own experience. It was intelligent and breathtaking and forced me to exhale when I hadn't even realized I wasn't breathing.

I felt so completely. Love trickled through my soul, and I could see and experience what was there. I didn't want to let it go, so I held on tight. I reveled in everything the words on the pages were offering me.

Now, that the book is done, I feel inspired. I want to understand how my characters can give that to a reader. I want to hone in on a skill that I've been afraid to admit that I have and share with those willing to accept it.

I can only hope that like this book, even when some moments are rough, they will want to keep going, keep being a part of that story.

And that idea is the hope that I will grasp onto through my own times that are rough. If I don't push through it, I'll never get to the beauty waiting for me just on the other side of the lake.