Today was my first day of English Comp II. I am taking that this summer along with two consecutive (note: I definitely just tried to spell consecutive with a Q… I need sleep) math courses. Because the summer semester is accelerated, my schedule is pretty crazy. I have a class for three hours every day Monday through Thursday and I work pretty much everywhere in between. Yesterday was a day off of work and I delighted in going blonde!

Much thanks to my girl Jo for doing it for me. She’s super talented.

Very excited about the math class, even though it is technically foundations level math. However, I am not to be embarrassed because apparently 85% of the students at my school go through foundations math. And this beginning-type math will make me feel super confident for not only college level Statistics this fall, but taking the TEAS exam in the fall as well. For those of you that don’t know, the TEAS exam is an exam to test competency in writing, reading comprehension, and basic math skills. I am taking it because it is a requirement for application to the nursing program that starts next year. The college first accepts students based on their TEAS scores and then moves on to GPA. As long as I can maintain my 4.0, all I need is to “ace” (read: score well on) the TEAS and my acceptance to the nursing program is pretty much a shoe in. Provided I still want to be a nurse after I become an LNA (licensed nurse’s assistant) this fall.

Anyway, so I love math because it does not come naturally to me and so when I am successful it makes me feel really great. And starting from the beginning feels smarter, anyway. No chance in feeling like I have fallen behind when I am getting back to basics. I mean seriously when was the last time anyone did two and three digit multiplication longhand? I don’t think we even did it in high school. So I am taking these assessment tests with iLearn to see if I need to be taught certain things, and it asks me What is 425 x 54?

Shit. I don’t know. How do we do this again? Longhand? What are the rules? Where do I place the extra zeroes? And forget long division. I was NEVER good at that, even when I was learning it in middle school. I can kind of do long division with one number on the outside, but give me this question: What is 45 divided by 127? Nope. Not gonna happen. Do not know, skip it.

So that’s been kind of entertaining, because honestly how much math do we adults REALLY remember? Don’t think it’s silly that they are legit asking me what is 5+3. Yeah, that’s easy for me, but ask me to do something more complex than 12 x 7 and I am at a loss. Thankfully my brain shook off the old mathy cobwebs and I started to remember how to do it properly, and I kind of felt like a moron then, but whatever. Learning is learning.

English… ah. Well, I wanted to take creative writing. Obviously. But then I found out my Humanities Prof from the spring semester was teaching Comp II this semester… and obviously I am going to stick with the guy I know. Even though the class syllabus is a 20-page research paper. I hate research papers. Shoot me now.

Fortunately, because it is an accelerated course, he reduced the paper to ten pages and we are going to write essays on the same topic and then pull it all together at the end. And, because he is amazing or just loves me, he told us during class that we can use personal pronouns in the research paper.

I really wish someone had taken a photo of my face at that moment.

I mean – hold up. Wait just a minute. Are you telling me that I can write a research paper using the words I and we? Are you telling me that this preconceived notion I have about stuffy and dry papers – aka research – is false? That I can find a voice and insert my personality into what would normally be about as entertaining as watching paint dry? No, scratch that, watching paint dry would be more entertaining than reading my own writing when it comes to research.

But! Fear not! We are going to take an informal approach and we can pick whatever topic we want. Which leads me to the actual point of this blog post (I love a good 800-word exposition, don’t you?)…

For the past two weeks I have been working with the aforementioned photographer Kiqe on ideas for creating dramatic images that spark conversation on abuse and the war on women. Particularly a conversation with my father left me with some interesting thoughts about violence against women and the role the media takes on reporting such acts of violence.

Consider the following statement:

Mary was raped.

This is the type of headline we commonly see in the media and this phrase is completely centered around the victim’s experience. College woman raped on (insert college name) campus last night. The problem with this kind of headline and this media approach is that it sends a powerful subliminal message to society. First of all, it sends the message that the victim is the focus. It takes a woman and makes her a victim. As a victim of abuse myself, I take particular offense to this. I don’t want to be THAT girl. I want to be the strong woman. Reporting the news this way affects the way women see themselves and also the way that society sees women as victims of abuse.

Now, consider the following:

Mary was raped by Jim.

Oh! Hey there! Introduction of a second subject. Now how does that make you feel? Have you ever seen a headline that says “College woman raped by fellow student (insert name here). Hell, no. Why? I have no fucking idea. This sends an entirely different message: by mentioning the perpetrator by name, there is balance in the way we judge the situation. Our focus shifts from Mary (the victim) and goes now to Jim (the abuser). We want to know more about this Jim character. Where does he get off raping poor Mary?

I would like to take this one step further. This is what I want to see when I open the newspaper:

Jim raped Mary.

Yeah, guys. Yeah. Let that sink in for a moment. Imagine a world where attention is shifted to the right person. Imagine opening a newspaper and seeing this headline “College student Jim rapes fellow student on campus.” 

That’s what I am writing my research paper about. I am writing my research paper about the way that the media approaches the war on women. The subliminal messages it is sending. I will be conducting my own research, although I don’t think I should say what it is because that would definitely compromise the integrity of the study. I want to get to the bottom of all of this. How does the media affect the way that we, as a society, see victims?

To take that one step further, it is my personal belief that bringing the victim into the conversation AT ALL creates a dialogue that just shouldn’t exist. The only thing we need to know about Mary is that she is okay and receiving treatment. Not where she was, not what she was doing walking around alone so late at night, not what she was wearing, where she was going, or where she was coming from. It matters not, people. It matters not. The entire focus should be on the actions of the perp, not the victim. By showering a victim with all this attention and making them feel victimized, it removes the strength and empowerment a woman should feel. A woman should open up the paper and look at that headline and think to herself – That’s right you son of a bitch. No one’s feeling sorry for me right now and treating me like a fucking leper. They are all talking about how much of a prick you are, not how sad I am for what happened to me.

Now, to be fair, one might say: Well what if it is only an alleged rape? You can’t publish that kind of thing until the person has been convicted of the crime. Yes, this is true, but do you ever see a headline that says College woman claims rape. Or College woman alleges that a fellow student raped her. No, you do not. The media thinks that it creates human interest if they tap into our emotions and go for pity. Wrong, media. WRONG. We are all a bunch of animals and we’re all so pissed off all the time that we need something to pour that energy into. Then we’ll all get our pitchforks and torches and burn the guy’s house down.

So, I am going to be collecting headlines and articles and sociological studies and hard data about the way it makes people feel to read these things over and over again. Not only that, but it solidifies in my mind what I am trying to accomplish with the photographer and we can send the same message. Whereas initially I thought – wouldn’t it be fun to have an image where I looked like the crap was beaten out of me? Headline reads: Strength is an attitude. In some awesome stance that radiates confidence?

How about this image: yeah, I look like I’ve been beaten half to death, but I am pointing at the perp. I am removing the attention from myself and assigning it directly where it belongs.

Whew. I’m all kinds of amped up. So, first we write a personal essay describing what it means to us and how we feel. Then we write a persuasive essay on why it should be important to other people. Then we do a bunch of research in and out of class and at the end of the semester tie all of that together in to one ten-page long research paper. And boy am I amped up. I might even submit it to a magazine or make it an editorial piece. People keep telling me I should be writing professionally, but I just hate rules.

I guess that sums up school for me. So jazzed.

Guys, I am so jazzed. I am just so freaking excited. Kiqe and I are meeting tomorrow to review the images from Monday’s shoot. So far I have been ridiculously pleased with the results, and I can’t wait to see the rest. He wants to work with my on future projects and I have been mulling it over the past few days trying to think of what I really want to do.

I am a modest and shy woman. Someone starts making inappropriate sexual comments and my face turns bright red. I don’t know how it is that I can model nude and not get embarrassed… maybe it is because it is because I feel like I am doing something meaningful with my body. I am not posing in a sexual way, I am not in a sexual mental state… that part of my brain is shut off and I am working. Connecting with the artist, connecting with my soul. I am preaching without saying a word. It’s an amazing experience just to be a part of, and I feel very fortunate to have this opportunity.

A few of the things I want to share with you all are some ideas I have for future shoots. I think it’s important to start this conversation right this minute. We use our bodies for many things, from basic functioning needs to accomplishing physical goals to violence to making love. We use our bodies to manipulate, we use them to further ourselves, and we use them for pleasure. Why not use our bodies to strike a conversation about the things that really need to be talked about?

Everyone’s familiar with the following internet sensation:

This is exactly the kind of thing I am talking about. NO ONE will look at this picture and see breasts. What you see is a brave woman who is starting a REAL conversation about things that MATTER to women, men, everyone. These are things that no one talks about and they really should be talked about. I want to use my body to start conversations. Not about whether or not I’m a slut, not whether or not I should be allowed to talk to children, and not whether or not what I’m doing is just to get attention. Because I want it to get your attention, but not because of my breast size or the shape of my curves. I want all of us to have a conversation about what’s important: honesty, women’s rights, trust, loving yourself, feeling pain, and insecurity.

I want every person to think hard about these issues and I want my body to be the catalyst for this happening. I have several interesting ideas floating in my head and Kiqe and I will talk about them at a later date, but I wanted the conversation to start here.

I have been openly talking about the shoot on Monday because I am not ashamed. I feel like whenever people hear the words human figure modeling or art modeling or when I start to explain it, they go to that place in their head where I become somewhat of a hussy. Tell me, look at this picture, does she look like a hussy to you?

No, she does not. She isn’t wearing any clothing, but that’s not the important part. Look at her face. Look at her expression. Look at her posture. Nude modeling is incredible because it intensifies the emotion attached to the picture. Sure, you can take your clothing off and lay in front of a camera and get the sexy look on your face and do all kinds of erotic things. No judgments here. It’s YOUR body, have whatever conversation you want to have with it. But MY body – I want to use to it send a different kind of message. You’ll never see an image of me that is erotic or NSFW.

So, over the next few weeks I’ll be talking about this a lot and possibly posting the things that we are working on, if these projects end up happening. It’s just important that I start with:

My name is Kyrston and I model nude so that I may understand more about myself and help others understand more about themselves. The absence of clothing does not take away my class or self-respect. I want to create art, send messages, make waves, start conversations about important issues, and leave lasting impressions. I don’t want to be famous, I don’t want the attention, and I don’t need anyone’s seal of approval. This is my body and this is how I choose to use it.

A few weeks ago I was on the phone with a good friend of mine, Jordan, and he was talking about doing a human figure study with a photographer that was referred to him by a friend. The photographer, Kiqe, wanted a female model to compliment Jordan in the shoot. Jordan called me because he knows that I do figure modeling for art classes. We talked about it for a while had aairly extensive conversation with Kiqe prior to the shoot, which was yesterday. All I can say is: what an awesome experience.

At first I was incredibly anxious about even agreeing to this. Sitting for an art class is one thing. The artists can only capture your likeness. A photograph is a photograph – and once it exists it can never un-exist, particularly when it is published. But, I felt that at the very least I could explain my boundaries to Kiqe and see what kind of vibe I felt from him, understanding that at any moment I could back out if I felt uncomfortable.

So, yesterday, I went to Jordan’s early and we shared a bottle of Ginger Beer and talked and caught up for a while. We talked about what was going to happen, and especially how much closer our friendship would be after the shoot. It’s not very often that you just hang out with your friends in the nude. Well, unless you live in a nudist colony, then it’s probably pretty normal. But we had time to polish off the bottle and get nice and relaxed and just chill. Then Kiqe arrived.

At first I was just really put at ease by his whole approach. He was very businesslike, almost to the point of brusqueness, without losing the friendly demeanor. He was just very matter of fact, came with armfuls of tools (as opposed to some random guy with a camera), and knew exactly what he was doing. Once everything was set up, he took the time to talk to us about his goals for the shoot, our comfort levels, and what would happen with the photos. He explained that he does not work with model releases because all we have is his word. Instead, he explained, he would ask permission for every single picture that had our face in it. That relaxed me quite a bit. Rather than just being the subject of someone taking my photograph for a few hours, I would be a part of the process the entire way through. He was very sincere and serious and made sure we understood completely what was going on.

After we got that out-of-the-way, we talked about different ideas for shoots. Jordan has quite a few tattoos – over ten – and Kiqe wanted to capture these in really interesting ways. We talked about props and I watched as this complete stranger unfolded in front of my eyes. The really interesting thing I learned about Kiqe over the course of the shoot is that he truly is an artist. He sees things and you can just watch the mental gears running at top speed. It was really awe inspiring, honestly. As a model, my job is to show up and follow instructions and communicate with the artist. It was a pleasure to work with him for many different reasons.

Reason number one that I loved working with Kiqe: he was in constant communication about my physical and emotional state of being. He never stopped communicating with us. Sitting for an art class is a very specific kind of relationship between the model and the artist. Working with a photographer felt very different and yet the same, in a way. For starters, Kiqe was never more than a few feet away from us while we were shooting. The poses took time to set up and then he had to find the shot and capture the image. This requires a different kind of bravery from the model. At least in an art class the artists are across the room and I have a huge bubble of personal space. Working with a photographer produces a little more anxiety because they are standing right in front of you, next to you, etc. In addition to that, Jordan was even closer, which was a little nerve-wracking but also completely comfortable. I don’t know that I would have lasted several hours with a complete stranger as the model with me.

Working with Jordan was extremely fun. We laughed and joked and it wasn’t all that weird being nude with him, because you get into this state of mind where you feel like you are wearing clothing even if you’re not. It takes a great amount of focus to model, and your brain can’t focus on the nudity. It’s really the most natural state of being in the world, and once I accepted that all those modeling sessions ago, it became easy and felt more natural than wearing clothing.

So, throughout the entire shoot, Kiqe kept saying things like: How are you feeling? Are you okay? And I could tell it wasn’t in that flip way that people say because they are obligated to, he was taking responsibility for being aware of our state of mind. One thing I think I learned from last night’s shoot is that photography is about capturing moments, memories, and emotion. Whereas in an art class I pose and the artist interprets it, Kiqe was capturing things exactly as they were happening. It was emotionally exhausting to keep that level of energy. In an art class it’s more physical work, holding still for long periods of time, but my mood does not affect the artists. I have an expressionless face and my mind wanders. Photography captures exactly what it is you feel at that moment, and the poses and moments were as much about feeling as they were about the figure.

Another wonderful part about working with Kiqe is that his mind is an incredibly creative one. He would look at me so intensely as if he had just asked me a really hard question and was expectantly awaiting the answer. When he looked at me, I felt like I should be saying something, because he was looking at me so hard. But then I realized that he was thinking, and studying my face, and thinking some more. It made me smile and laugh because it is not often that you get to witness creative genius being borne.

He was professional, as well. He never looked anywhere but at my face when we were talking, and when he was placing us in poses he always explained what we were doing and asked permission for everything. He would say, I am going to step closer to you now. I am going to step to the left to capture from this angle. Is it okay if I adjust your hair? Are you okay with Jordan’s hands being here or here. And more of How are you feeling? It really helped to develop a level of trust. By the end of the night I felt like we were old friends, in a way. This style of art is very intimate, I feel, because it’s necessary to really connect with the artist. Not intimate in a sexual way, far from it, but more vulnerability because you are really putting it out there emotionally for someone else to witness.

A good example would be a photo he sent me today. As promised, he has been sending me photos and asking my opinion prior to posting them on Facebook or his private web page. I explained to him that if the picture wasn’t appropriate for Facebook, I didn’t want it posted publicly. I also kept in mind the following: Would I proudly show this to my father? Would I show it to his mother? Would I defend this photo, would I even have to? Will this ever compromise my career later? All these questions weighed on my mind prior to the shoot and during. And Kiqe delivered exactly what I asked for. He played with angles and props and the frame to protect my modesty, which I really appreciated.

Anyway, so he sends me this picture today that made me a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t even remotely revealing, but the expression on my face was one I could not fathom. I had never seen that look on my face before and I didn’t know what it meant. We talked about it, and he told me his opinion (only after he asked for my permission to speak frankly, which was charming). He told me that it was a magnetic come-hither look, which made me laugh. I suppose there are many moments in our lives where we don’t know what we look like. If I am remembering correctly, that’s not how I felt. I was laying down and he was standing over me and I kept laughing. If you’ve never tried to make “eye” contact with a camera lens without smiling, you should try. It’s really hard. All you see is this giant black circle that moves around as the focus is corrected. And for whatever reason I would keep my composure for about three seconds and then burst out laughing. Kiqe’s patience was endless and he had creative solutions to prevent the giggles as well. I think at this point I was just really concentrating on not laughing and I was feeling tense, because I had laughed like four times and I was started to feel a little irritated with myself for not just keeping a straight face.

Anyway, so once we talked about the look on my face, he decided not to post it after all. Which I thought was pretty cool, because after I told him my boundaries, maybe he guessed that something on the could-be-interpreted-as-sexual side was not a wise idea. Either way, sometimes people tell you what you want to hear and sometimes people tell you the truth. Kiqe falls under the latter category.

All in all it was a wonderful experience. I have often said that on my bucket list I would love to spend a day with a photographer just having my picture taken, and this came up in conversation last night. He told me he would work with me any time, which is really exciting. We talked about adding another female model to the shoots and working with body paint (awesome. awesome. awesome.) and having an outdoor shoot somewhere in the woods. All of this is great. Not only that, but something happens to a person when they do this kind of thing. It promotes growth. I am a different person after every one of these experiences and it’s really exciting. There’s nothing quite like that rock-solid feeling of sureness deep in your gut. The feeling that we get when we meet the right person, when we have the right job, and when we make good life choices. I am so excited to continue to build a portfolio of all of the work I have done.

For more information on Kiqe, please visit his Website or Facebook Page

Addendum: Here is a picture I took of Kiqe when he handed me his camera – a beautiful piece of equipment that costs roughly the same amount as a new car – and said “Take some pictures”.

I haven’t written a blog post in a while, guys, and I’ll tell you why: apparently people read this thing.

In the beginning, this was all about a cathartic form of therapy for me. Writing has always represented that, whether it’s an essay or a poem or a blog post. I love to write, to work shit out as I type, and it’s cleansing. A huge part of that was the vulnerability that comes with writing my thoughts and feelings in a public manner. But then I started to realize that people I know actually read this thing and writing became harder. Because as much as I’d like to pour my heart and soul just to feel better, my reputation is more important. I own the choices I make, but that doesn’t mean everyone on the internets needs to know about my life.

So, I found myself at an impasse. How do I accomplish this thing that I need without compromising my privacy? I suppose I’ll just skip all the details and sum up my thoughts without the back story. So, I’ll just mention some of the things I’ve learned over the past few months.

Probably the most startling realization I have made is the definition of dating. Apparently – and I use this word with great sarcasm and something close to disdain – dating is seeing someone until you lose interest and then you don’t see them anymore. What a horrible way to interact with other human beings. Once I made this realization, and accepted that this is clearly true based on the behavior of pretty much everyone in my age group (or the world?), I had to apply that information to my previous behavior. Previously I would meet someone, get emotionally attached WAY too quickly, and then when things got hard just muscle through. Because I’m not a quitter. To me, ending a relationship seemed like a failure, when in actuality it’s a decision. It’s kind of like – hey! I like you. Then a few weeks go by and you’re thinking… actually, I don’t like you that much. Not enough to continue down this path. Walking away from a man is not a failure, it’s a choice. And that realization is empowering. It means that I can expose myself to all different kinds of people, get to know them without jumping in the deep end too quickly, and make an informed and detached decision later. None of this falling in love with a complete stranger crap.

I’ve also learned that however I feel is however I feel. No matter how ridiculous it seems, I feel those feelings, and they are valid. This means that if I don’t want to do something, I don’t do it. When the guilt or the insecurity starts to creep in I do my best to hold my resolve. I really am my own worst enemy. If I am sad, I am sad. I embrace my emotions because they are they only thing I can trust. I am aware of them, I am in control of them, they do not control me, and I do not reject them. It is my brain’s way of telling me something is wrong or right. I think that as a general rule humanity spends entirely too much time ignoring emotions. Yes, we feel them, but we do not take them seriously.

I have learned that people cannot be trusted with the most intimate parts of my soul. We all want to feel loved, we want to feel safe, and we want to feel valued. During the dating process I have found that pretty much everyone wants to lock me in. They meet me and they think I am wonderful and they want to be my boyfriend or whatever. That’s all well and good, except I know they are not making an informed decision. Very few people really know who I am. It takes a long time for me to open up to someone. I can talk to you, have sex with you, go to dinner with you, get drunk with you… but you don’t know what I’m about. You don’t know what I’m thinking about as I fall asleep at night and you don’t see every side that there is to me. The reason you don’t see it is because once you see it, you can use that information against me to serve your own needs. You hear that I am a fundamentally insecure person and the next thing you know you are doing things to exaggerate that part of my personality. So I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve so much anymore. It’s a fine line between being honest and dishonest, in terms of my interactions with other people, but I feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on it. In a sense it makes me sad because I would love to have that connection with someone, have someone who I can tell everything to. Be in love. But I have learned that being in love is a false sense of security. And it would not be fair to open myself up to someone when I’m not even sure what they are getting. So I am emotionally detached in certain ways.

A friend of mine asked me recently what word I would use to describe myself, if I could only pick one. The first word that came to mind was warm. I am a warm person. I am kind and generous of spirit and I love people with every fiber of my being. I love many people all at the same time and I give to them whatever I want at any given point. I would say that I give less than I have in the past, but probably more than most. I am just warm. I will listen to you vent, be your shoulder to cry on, hold you when you are sad. I will invest in you emotionally, to a point, and give you frank advice that no one else will say out loud.

I have learned that I am a sensitive person. Learned is not really the right word, because I always knew I was sensitive. But I have accepted that and embraced it. Being so in tune with my emotions I know exactly how someone makes me feel when they say or do something, and I openly admit being sensitive and also speak my mind when someone offends me or hurts my feelings. I have learned, finally, that it is okay to be a sensitive person because I am just too young to be hardened and void of feelings. What is the point in living if we cannot embrace how we feel? Expressing these emotions is a part of the process.

I have also learned that my marriage is still a relevant part of my existence. I think that when I moved back home and got divorced I just wanted to get over it and move on. But there are many days when I still feel love for that man, and grief, and nostalgia. It comes up in conversation and a part of me feels embarrassed to even be talking about it, but then I wonder: what is there to be embarrassed about? And I chewed on it for a while and still hadn’t found an answer until this very moment, and I have to tell you that I am relieved that the last piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place.

I value his existence. I value the memories that I have. I think that we had something really special that was spoiled by one sucker-punch from life after another. I think that I made the right decision by leaving and that we are on better paths because of it. I am in school and heading towards better and brighter things, he has a great job making lots of money and is in school as well. We both appear to be functioning better without each other than we did together. But he will never be that thing that I am ashamed of that I tuck in a closet when company comes over. Nor will he ever be the thing I regret. He mattered to me then and he matters to me now because we were married and that means something to me. I suppose that this is what it feels like to be healed. To think of a person and feel no anger or bitterness, to feel no regret, to feel only hope and happiness and focus all of my positive energy his way. I want him to find everything he ever wanted in his life. I want him to be successful and happy and have everything he ever wanted. Because… he was my husband. And that kind of love… you don’t just get over it. It doesn’t just become something that is a part of your past. I want us to be friends one day, it is too soon for that I am sure, but I want to be able to call him and check up on him without it halting our progress as individuals. I want him to know that I am happy that I got to be a part of his life.

Among the things I have learned, perhaps the most important is that we are never okay. This might sound like I am changing gears from something uplifting to something a little more jaded, but I’m not. It’s the truth. We are born free of scars and emotional trauma. As we grow we are shaped into individuals as a result of our upbringing and our genetic code. We are battered all to hell along the way by strangers and loved ones alike. We are injured, we heal. Emotionally and physically. But we are never “okay” in the sense that we get to hit the reset button and pretend like it never happened. I am a product of everything I have ever done and everything that has ever been done to me. Emotionally, I am a product of every person that has ever put me down or lifted me up. The scars that I wear on my emotional skin are never going to fade away. They are permanent. Over time the wound heals and I hurt less and less, but I can never forget where I come from. This realization, to me, is crucial. It means that feeling broken is normal and a part of the process. It means that I can accept who I am without trying to fix something. I’m not actually broken, I am in perfect working order. In fact, this is how I should feel. I have lived. I have experienced. I have put myself out there and I have learned. I am strong, I am weak, I am anxious, and I am calm. I am all the things I am and that is exactly how I am meant to be. Accepting myself for who I am, and truly loving myself, being my own best friend… these are the best gifts I could give myself.

My parting words are few. Be aware and be forgiving of all things. You will sleep better at night.

I find myself in a difficult stage of existence and many times over the past few weeks I have had this thought: “I know that in five years I will vehemently say that nothing could persuade me to relive my mid-twenties.”

I often thoughtfully ponder what I have done in the past five years. Being back home brings back a lot of memories and I am constantly running into people I graduated with. I think we all feel very small on the inside and are afraid to say it. After a few drinks we all loosen up a bit and can agree the following: Being this age sucks and I have no idea what I’m doing.

For so many years I defined success by the relationships I had with other people. The status of my love life, the bonds of friendship, and the loyalty of family. Unfortunately, I lacked one important piece: my relationship with myself. This must come before all other relationships. It is the foundation on which other relationships are based and with a weak relationship of self, other relationships are doomed to fail. Intimacy on any level cannot be pulled off without a healthy level of intimacy with the self.

It’s been nearly a year since a series of events that changed my path. I have been reflecting on what has happened in the past year and in some ways I can say I am proud of the progress I have made. In other ways I can say that although I think I am headed in a mostly correct direction, I really can’t say for sure. Naturally, my thought process is entirely dependent on my mood. Which varies intensely throughout the day. It occurs to me that without a love partner in all of this, I have entirely too much time to think about myself.

In some ways, this has been excellent. I find that I am less and less developing attachments to people (particularly men) for the wrong reasons. I am more cautious in some ways and less cautious in others. And I am learning to trust my instincts and constantly put my needs before others. Because of this, I say no. A lot. It feels like a lot to me, anyway, because up until relatively recently I typically said yes. If I didn’t say yes right away, most people knew they could wear me down with very little effort.

What I have found most interesting is how other people react when I tell them no. It reveals a lot about human nature. We are all pleasure-seeking individuals and it is interesting to see what happens when another person seeks pleasure from me and cannot get it. It’s probably something most people don’t even think about, just another facet of the social network, but I find myself fascinated by watching what other people do.

I’ve always held a significant amount of pride for being incredibly consistent in my behavior. I was the port in the storm. Anything anyone needed I could provide. I was showered with love and affection for being exactly what some people craved: an endless form of resources and kindness. If you were hungry, I fed you. Needed money? I got your back. A ride, a shoulder to cry on, a stern talking to. All of these things flowed from my heart and into the people I loved because I had so much to give and it made me feel that I had a purpose, a role, and that I was of value.

After all, if I am not meeting the needs of others, what good am I?

A few times I found myself completely tapped out. My job was draining, my relationship unhealthy, and my friendships taxing at times. I would frequently “disappear” emotionally. I wouldn’t return calls or texts, I blew my friends off, and I would be emotionally absent in my relationship.

Then, after a few weeks, I would begin to feel guilt over not meeting the needs of these people I claimed to love. The process would begin again.

Negative side effects of this pattern of behavior are numerous.

So, I finally decided to start making conscious decisions based on MY needs first. I am being careful not to swing from one end of the spectrum to the other. I am still just as sensitive and kind and loving as I have always been, but rather than walk around as the soft and gooey past-Kyrston, I am now protected by a fierce hard shell.

I think that part of this also has to do with fearing intimacy. I really morph into a different person when I am in love. It happens so gradually that I never notice until it’s too late, and as we all know, being in love makes even the worst partner seem charming in all the wrong ways.

My foray into the dating world has been… interesting. Meeting lots of interesting and nice people. Pursuing additional time with some, losing interest in others. Again, mostly dependent on my mood. Socially I think this used to be frowned upon, but as time marches on the generations are becoming more and more accepting of so-called unconventional behaviors. Add to that the fact that I was firmly out of the dating loop for a few years and I’d say I have a lot of catching up to do.

I’m starting to get a grip on what I care about. What I like, what I don’t like. What matters to me and what doesn’t. All of it feels incredibly healthy and stable and I have a deep-rooted knowledge that this is the correct way to live out the mid-twenties. In a nutshell, I am stocking up on a vast array of life experiences and also checking in with myself along the way.

When something happens I pause to consider: what is happening? how does it make me feel? how do I think I should feel? where do my feelings come from? what do I want to do?

This can be kind of distracting in the moment, but I’ve found it’s a pretty good system for keeping myself on the right track.

To illustrate an example, I stopped drinking coffee a few weeks ago. It would be one thing if I drank one cup a day. Even two wouldn’t be that bad. But I drink several cups in the morning. Some at work. Some at night. It was getting completely out of hand. So, I just decided to quit one day and start drinking green tea instead.

Several times over the course of the past few weeks I have wanted coffee. Once or twice I felt completely heartbroken that I would not taste it for a long time, if ever. When I wake up in the morning my dad leaves the pot on and there is half a pot just sitting there, begging me to drink it. The first time that happened I poured a cup but also brewed a cup of tea. I was standing in my kitchen looking at both cups side by side, having a conversation with myself about which one I wanted. Eventually I dumped the coffee in the sink and drank my tea. After I told my dad that story, he started dumping out the coffee before he left for work.

I read somewhere that adding a slice of lemon is healthy because the acid in the lemon helps your body absorb the antioxidants. So I put lemons on the grocery list. I sliced them. It’s a relaxing routine, heating the water until the teapot whistles. Letting the tea bag soak in the water. Dropping the lemon in and waiting for it to get hot, and then pulling it out so squeeze every last drop of lemon juice out of it. Discarding the lemon and drinking the tea. For some reason, hot tea stays hotter longer than coffee. It takes twice as long to drink one cup of tea than it does to drink a cup of coffee. It’s soothing. And since I know I’m not drinking it for the caffeine, I can savor the taste.

A few times at work I’ve wanted coffee, tonight being one them. I was just so tired and feeling pretty lousy and weak, and my brain wandered to the coffee. I had a conversation with myself about how it would make me feel to drink the coffee after so many days of being strong and resisting the urge. Finally I decided to drink decaf instead, because it would make me feel better to taste the coffee but still have the control to resist the caffeine.

As it turns out, I have been sleeping a lot better. I don’t have headaches and I feel energized. Not so much right now, because I pleasure-sought a little to hard last night and I’ve had a mild hangover most of the day. But typically I feel energized.

I also feel rather hollow most of the time.

As awesome as all of this self-discovery is, I find myself to be terribly lonely. There is a luster and effervescent feeling associated with being in love, being in a partnership, that I severely lack. With all the clarity and righteousness I feel, I also feel very cold sometimes. There are moments when I know for absolutely certainty that I never want to get married again and I could really do without falling in love, either. And these are not necessarily moments of anger or bitterness. They are regular moments of contentment and a feeling of self-satisfaction. Pride in being emotionally self-sufficient.

But, sometimes, I think back to that feeling… and I think that I could probably never be alone long-term. I have such a huge heart, so much passion inside of me, and so much love to give. It feels a waste to lock it all away for whatever reasons are most current. Today it is that I am on this path and I am driven and I am focused and don’t have time for silly things such as falling in love. Other times I am resolute that I will never love again, like that, because the pain is not worth the effervescence of it all. And other times I think that it is just a complete waste of time, because people hurt each other and if anyone’s going to hurt me, I’d like to be that person. I can deal with me, I trust me. I don’t trust another soul past the superficial level.

I battle with how this newly found outlook on relationships affects those around me. I feel hardened and insensitive, but perhaps that is only in relation to my former pattern of behavior. As my dad might put it, the way I feel now is probably the way that everyone else feels, and I’ve been doing it wrong and just now catching up.

Well, I always have been a late bloomer. Itching for the gun to go off but always last to cross the finish line.

So, I reflect on these feelings as well. I wonder what ties people together, and I try to objectively watch what drives them apart. It makes me sad to see that most interpersonal relationships are built on needs being met. A connection can be as real as you think it is in any given moment. We all know that once in a while you see someone and your heart skips a beat, a longing glance can be exchanged and it feels like hours of conversation. But in the grand scheme of things we are all just on our paths to seek our needs and we randomly bump into one another and then bounce away in another direction. Sort of like a bunch of rubber balls in a room. Let them loose and they’ll bounce all over the place. Once in a while some connect and then bounce off each other in another direction. This brief moment of contact, for the rubber balls, is an accelerated version of our relationships.

And then there are those balls that, by sheer dumb luck, will bounce together again from a complete different set of points. This has been especially evident to me moving back to the town where I went to high school. There are all of these people around me and I’m reconnecting with them but being careful not to get too close, because odds are we’ve been thrown together twice now but in the long run we probably won’t be thrown together again.

I don’t exactly understand the point of all of it. I suppose this is the thing that philosophers have been asking of our species since the dawn of time: what does it mean to be human?

For now, the best I can do is actively think about it and try to follow my instincts.

As some of you may know, I am a server. This is pretty easy work if you’ve got the right mind for it. Not that there’s a wrong mind, of course, but different people excel at different things. It’s pretty easy for me, as long as I can remember to stay calm and weather the storm. There’s a rhythm to it that’s comforting, the same routine over and over with minor variations here and there. It’s easy money and the perfect job for a college student.

It also kind of sucks, because what I REALLY love is working with food.

When I was in high school, during the summer before my Junior year, my mom really pushed me to take advantage of my last two years of free education and move towards a goal. I had been toying with being a teacher as well as being a chef. She requested that I make some kind of decision so that I could take the right classes to impress potential colleges. I decided to go with culinary rather than teaching.

For two years every day I learned the tools of the trade. How to use a knife properly – pretty much everyone does it wrong. What an herb is versus a spice – we learned that herbs are the leafy part of the plant and spices are most commonly the seeds, but I think this definition has changed in the past few years. We learned terminology, how to break down a chicken, the difference between caramelizing and sweating, how to de-glaze a pan with wine, and a million other bits of information that seem commonplace to me now.

We ran a restaurant in the career center at the high school, and as a “first year” student I mostly honed my skills, learned about cooking and baking (which I quickly abandoned when I realized this was not my calling), catered school banquet events, and learned about how to serve and how to work on a line. Coming back in my Senior year as a “second year” student, we were not only high on life because we were seniors, but we were the alpha in the culinary program. We ran the restaurant, bossed the first year’s around, taught them how to do things that we had learned “long ago”, and started vying for a spot on the Skills USA team.

Skills USA is a technical competition for a variety of different skills. Our school had four spots open: two for hot foods and two for baking. I was selected for one of the hot foods spots and every day I practiced and practiced, from fall until spring. We had some information, and I still remember it all. We knew that we had to demonstrate that we could use a knife properly by cutting a potato into certain cuts: small and medium dice, julienne, etc. We then had to break down a chicken. Breaking down a chicken is when you take a whole chicken and remove all of the parts’: two drumsticks, two thighs, two wings, two oysters, and two breasts. Next we had a to make a salad and dressing from scratch, then make cream of mushroom soup, use the chicken we had just ripped apart for our entrée along with a vegetable and a starch.

To prepare for the knife portion, I took a sharpie and made small marks on the blade of my chef knife so that I knew where 1/4, 1/2, and 1 inch were. I know this sounds like cheating, but everyone does it. I mean the judges will be walking around with a ruler to inspect the accuracy of your dice, and what everyone knows but no one says is that our knife is our ruler. How are you supposed to eyeball 1/4 inch??

To prepare for the chicken portion, my teacher bought case after case of raw chickens. I think there were 20 chickens to a case. We used them for cooking in class anyway and someone had to break them down, so for days and days I did one after another. This is usually what I did on Mondays and Tuesdays, if I am remembering correctly, because the restaurant was closed on Mondays. I had a timer next to me and I just kept going through chicken after chicken. I want to say that my fastest break down was less than five minutes. The goal was to be fast and accurate, because time is a part of the judging at Skills. How quickly can you do what you do, with what level of accuracy, and how good does it taste?

As soon as I knew what we were making, I made it every day. I made so many batches of cream of mushroom soup. I could probably make it in my sleep. I never measured anything, and never wrote anything down, because food is an art and not a science. Once you know how to work with it and understand the flavor profiles, all you need is imagination. Unfortunately I made one batch that was probably the best soup I have ever made in my life. Actually, it was probably the best soup I have ever tasted in my life. It was so perfect that it made your mouth water when it was in your mouth. Like it was laced with cocaine or something. Pure love. The unfortunate piece is that since I didn’t measure or write anything down, I could never quite re-create that magical soup concoction. What I did end up with was dozens of batches of almost-as-good soup that were more or less like one another, so that’s what I ended up making at skills.

The rest of it was similar. I played around with dressings until I found one that I liked. I made starch after starch, vegetable after vegetable  Eventually I had the perfect meal committed to memory.

During Spring break I went on a cruise with my mom and grandmother. Skills USA was the day I came back. I would be flying in and driving from the airport to the high school where I could immediately leave for the competition. I packed my tools the Friday before spring break. There was a bit of drama, because all of the flights from Miami to Manchester kept being delayed and I was in constant communication with my teacher, trying to figure out if I was even going to make the competition. Incidentally, the competition was canceled due to inclement weather and I had another week to prepare.

On the day of, I was rested and anxious. I had been warned of the intensity of the competition. A number of stations in a large room, each with everything you would need: a work space half the size of the one I was accustomed to, a sink, and an outlet. We shared a large range (gas-top stove) for the entrée portion of the cooking.

Halfway there we realized we forgot cutting boards, of all things, and had to stop at a Walmart in the early morning to pick some up. When we arrived to the school, I checked in and went to my station to prepare. I don’t remember who else was there, only where I was standing and who was directly behind me. I was the second station from the back in the far left hand row. The girl behind me I remember because she won states that year.

We began the timed cutting portion and the room was completely silent aside from the sounds of dozens of high school students cutting potatoes. Judges walked around and watched us work. I finished the cutting portion before anyone else, aside from the girl behind me.

Next was the chicken part, and I finished in record time with complete accuracy. Naturally, the girl behind me finished first.

I cleaned my station (safety and sanitation VERY important, if not in the real world then definitely when being watched) and began working on the… soup. I’m pretty sure I started the soup first. I set the mirepoix (celery, onions, and carrots – the base for pretty much every soup and sauce) to caramelize in butter while I began working on the salad. I’m pretty sure I sautéed the mushroom and garlic first, then de-glazed the pan with white wine and added it to the mirepoix with heavy cream. I let it reduce and then used an immersion blender to blend it together. I think I then started working on the salad and dressing while I let the soup simmer.

On top of preparing all of the food and keeping mental tabs on the timing of everything, we had to plate the food ourselves and walk it into the next room for the judges to taste. I remember that I garnished the soup with several thinly sliced sautéed mushrooms. I know the salad came out pretty good. Then I tackled the entrée and took that as well.

Again, the girl who was behind me was always one step ahead. But she was really more like five steps ahead. She was finished with every task at least several minutes before I was, and if she felt pressure she sure didn’t show it. That girl was a rock star, a damn culinary genius. She looked ten times more prepared that I felt, even after months of practice.

At the end of the day I was exhausted but proud. The ceremony to announce the winner was a few weeks later. I wasn’t surprised that she won, it’s kind of like in a horse race when the winner is leagues ahead of the other horses, and then second, third, and fourth place horses are all really close together. In a culinary competition with my peers, I placed first ahead of everyone else and she was in a whole other league compared to the rest of us.

I remember them saying my name, and that’s it. I think I must have felt shocked, because I really didn’t think I did that well. I wasn’t paying attention to anyone but her, and I knew that I wasn’t the best. I imagine I went on a stage and accepted an award and had my picture taken or something, but I don’t really remember. I received a scholarship to the culinary institute of my choice and got to say that I placed second in the state of New Hampshire in Skills USA. It might be how an athlete feels winning some kind of tournament. I don’t know, I’m not an athlete, this is what I did.

While I was in class my Junior and Senior years, I also began working at a local fine dining restaurant to further my education. Pretty much all of the serious culinary students worked at restaurants as well, because they love food and want to be chefs. Here I washed pots and pans, assisted with prep, worked in the deli next door, catered weddings, and worked on the salad and dessert station. I was working my way to the line (the place that every aspiring chef REALLY wants to be) when I graduated high school and went to Ohio for six weeks.

When I came back, I worked at a different restaurant. I was actually on the opening team for said restaurant, which means that it was a brand new place and I was on the staff that opened it. A very cool experience. While there I worked on the line during Pumpkin Fest and I don’t remember the day at all. Well, that’s not true. I have two memories of that day. One is when I eventually got to sit down and smoke a cigarette and eat a cup of butternut squash soup. The other memory is looking at the tickets at my window. There were so many tickets that they were overlapping one another. My brain went on total autopilot. Everything aside from breathing and cooking completely shut down. I think that’s why I don’t remember – I was too busy working with speed and accuracy to even know that I was thirsty, or tired, or what time it was.

I really loved both of those jobs. I learned so many things about food preparation and food art and what it means to work with food. I was excited to attend the Culinary Institute of America and drop more than fifty thousand dollars on a two-year education for a certificate in culinary arts. I was excited because with a degree from the CIA on your resume – you can get hired pretty much anywhere. It’s the most prestigious culinary institute in the nation. Of the limited number of master chefs in the world, several teach at the CIA. It cranks out the most talented and innovative food experts in the nation. And I was going to be one of them.

Alas, that never happened. I delayed my enrollment by six months to participate in a political campaign. The campaign took me across the country to Iowa where I lived with complete strangers and fought for a cause I believed in. While I was there I came to the realization that maybe culinary school wasn’t such a good idea. I have always wanted children and it felt irresponsible to spend so much money on such a limited education. I knew I never wanted to open my own restaurant and I knew firsthand the hours and salary of a chef and when I thought about it objectively, it seemed like a bad idea. So, I made the painful but adult decision to abandon my passion in search of a more realistic future.

Sometimes I… regret that decision. I use the dotdotdot because I hate using the word regret. I firmly believe that our paths are with purpose and that we are all a part of something much bigger. I believe that we experience things to grow. I am aware that making a different decision six years ago may have very well changed my entire life, but I do not know what path I would be on, and I prefer not to abandon my current one. I value the experiences I have had and the growth I have achieved. But sometimes I do miss it.

So tonight, when my manager asked me if I would work the pantry station rather than serve, of course I said yes. First of all, we were relatively slow and I knew that I’d probably make better money hourly for a few hours than serve. Second of all… even if it’s just making salad and bread sticks – FOOD.

I’m incredibly jealous of the line staff sometimes. I really love being a server because it’s easy money, but I don’t particularly like being a server. First of all, my social skills aren’t that great. I feel awkward most of the time and fake it. Food is different, food I understand. And if you make a mistake, you just start over again. That’s the beauty. And everything goes with everything. It’s like magic. It’s the one thing that makes sense to me because it is so versatile and so consistent.

Food rocks.

It occurs to me, on this day, that perhaps I should write about gender equality. I title this blog “Marriage and Gender Equality” because marriage is what changes everything in the eyes of the State, not being in love. Two people can live together as long as they want, but once you get married, a whole lot of doors open (and it seems like even more close). So, the long debate of whether or not to allow same-sex partners the benefits of marriage continues. But, let us think for a moment. Instead of focusing on the love that two same-sex partners share, what is it about marriage that makes narrow-minded people so testy?

Being married comes with a lot of benefits. If your spouse dies, you get all his money. For the sake of this blog, I will refer to spouse as HIS from this point forward. I really don’t feel like writing s/he or his/hers over and over again. You all get the point.

So, you get the cash. You get the retirement benefits, you get the perks on cheaper health insurance, you are looked at with praise and pride by other members of your society. Why? Because first of all, if you got someone to marry you, you must be pretty awesome. Street cred goes WAY up. And let me tell you, people, if I ever met a gay married couple, my first thought would NOT be: Wow, gays can get married? It would be: WOW, I know what it takes to be married, and one or both of them must be pretty fantastic to pull this off.

So, society respects you immediately because of course ONLY for real life grownups that have their shit together get married, right? Read: sarcasm. There’s problem number one. Connecting marriage with a sense of accomplishment before you actually do anything besides get married… that’s not an accomplishment. That’s twenty minutes with an ordained person. I could marry a random guy off the street if I wanted to. We could even pretend that we have known each other for years and are madly in love. No one would be the wiser, but it would all be a lie.

So, what else about marriage gets people so fired up. Oh, the BIBLE. Yes, heaven forbid anyone contradict what the BIBLE says. When my dad gets home I will remind him to start beating my mother, because in the BIBLE God says that’s okay. Also, he should probably sell Kasey into maidservantry before she turns eighteen. Come on, people. The instructions in Exodus are almost line for line Hammurabi’s code of laws, which came WAY before the BIBLE was ever written. Methinks someone picked up the code of laws and said unto himself – hey, this sounds good. Let’s put it in the GOOD BOOK.

Anyway. I’m getting off track. Okay, what else is there. Let’s see, when you’re married you get money from the government and respect as well. What else is marriage good for? Ah, yes, PROCREATION. Because it’s not like anyone has babies out of wedlock. And I suppose you’ll tell me that a suffering child in the third world part of our own country should not continue suffering rather than be adopted by a gay couple? Wait a minute, is it better or worse is that gay couple is married?

So money, respect from our fucked up societal system, procreation… what’s left? What’s the point of marriage? Ah, last on this list, LOVE.

Love. The most valuable and cherished thing in all the land only because it affects our souls so deeply. Love, the thing that makes music and art and things grow and flourish. Love, that which starts life and breathes life into us. You want to talk to me about love? Is there LOVE in your man-woman marriage when the man beats his wife? I mean, I know that God approves of the marriage  it is sanctified because it is a man and woman, but what about the beating? Wait, didn’t we cover that already? Right, your God is okay with wife beating and sex slavery.

Well, alright then, what about the marriage between a man and woman where the woman whores around on her husband? Still okay in God’s eyes, the marriage anyway, because it’s between a man and a woman. Or the one where the man drinks and gambles away the value of everything in his life? Marriage still doing okay, though, in society’s eyes. Because those narrow-minded folks would much rather have a man-woman marriage in shambles than a healthy loving relationship between a couple of fags down the street. Don’t go near them! They might convert you!

Let me tell you something, folks. The gays do not want to convert the straights. They might convert the in-betweens, but that’s about it.

Also, tell me again how unnatural it is for a man to be attracted to another man. Or a woman to another woman. Practically EVERY species on our planet has homosexual tendencies, as well as heterosexual ones. I like to think that all of the species that had only homosexual tendencies died out due to lack of ability to procreate. But imagine a scenario where there IS a species out there that does have homosexual tendencies and they only had sex with the opposite sex for the purpose of procreation… and then went home to their same sex partner to love them? Wow. What a thought. I’m willing to bet that if people loved who they were created for, there’d be about the same amount of gay people as straight people.

Attraction does not come from GOD, attraction comes from pheromones and chemicals. There are deeply rooted carnal tendencies in our brains that say MAKE MORE BABIES. But, there are also chemical reactions that we get purely from appreciating the same sex. I mean Jesus Christ Megan Fox makes everyone want to bang, not just the men.

Not to mention the fact that women have a G spot purely for sexual pleasure, and MEN have one too! It’s called the prostate. Obviously it serves a purpose other than a sexual one, but who knows why when it’s touched men go freaking apeshit. It’s probably because we are pleasure-seeking creatures and what we are doing is RIGHT if it feels good.

Speaking of pleasure, I do not inquire as to what you do in your heterosexual relationship. I know what I like, and it’s not whips and chains. For all I know you’ve got a whole closet full of scary toys you play with, or you’re a furry, or whatever. What you’re into is none of my business, as long as you’re not hurting another human being (without their consent). Two (or more) consenting adults in a healthy sexual relationship is what is NORMAL. What’s NOT normal is the wife that cheats on her husband, the husband that fucks the babysitter, or the heterosexual couple that stalk little boys and girls for kicks.

You’re telling me that GAYS are the problem? Are you kidding me?

What I will end with, because it is the most important thing, is this:

The first amendment to the U.S. Constitution clearly states: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Look at what it says. Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof. One-hundred percent of the debate on same-sex marriage and same-sex equality stems from a religious point of view. Congress does NOT have the right to prevent the American people from practicing their religion. So you taking your goddamn BIBLE and shoving it down my throat? You are literally spitting in the face of our founding fathers. This is the FIRST amendment! The very first one! It is SO important that they put it FIRST! Do you think that was an accident? NO.

There is nothing scientifically dangerous about same sex unions. There is nothing fiscally wrong with it. There is nothing, I repeat NOTHING, wrong with two men or two women falling in love. What is wrong here is the idea that one human being can control another. What happens behind closed doors is none of your business. If it’s right in front of you…

Turn the fuck around or get over yourself.

This morning I awoke with a jolt and felt a flood of negative energy pour into me. I felt the weight of choices I have made, things I am uncertain about, and responsibilities to attend to. I inwardly cringed at the feeling of foreboding and anxiety. These feelings are not so intense that they are debilitating, but they are painful and unpleasant. The very next thought I had was: “I need to do yoga. Right now.”

Yesterday I attended my very first yoga class. It’s something I have always wanted to do to achieve the results that everyone talks about. The collective idea is that yoga brings you peace and calm, stillness and quiet, and makes you feel incredibly grounded. Each one of those things is exactly correct.

I walked into the room and immediately felt out of place. It was very quiet, the lights were dimmed, and there were several people already sitting cross-legged on their yoga mats with their eyes closed, breathing. Where was the noise and chatter? Where was the activity? Not in the yoga room. The instructor was sitting quietly, watching as new people came in and took their places on the floor. I rolled out my mat like the others had done, collected a few of the props they also had, and sat looking around.

The instructor walked over and, in a whisper, introduced herself and shook my hand. She asked me if I had done yoga before, to which I replied a timid “no”. She gave me a big smile and welcomed me.

When the class began, she instructed us to breathe and to feel our breath. To let it fill our bellies and diaphragms and move into our chest and up to our collar bones. She spoke quietly over the soft music, encouraging us to find our center. That place where you are focused only on the present, the way your body feels, your breathing, and to let go of anything else on your mind. She instructed us to just let it go. The list of things we had to do, the things that had happened thus far in the day, and the worries we had on our mind. At first I had to really concentrate to relax and just let it all go, and once I did I felt wonderful and relieved. Finally – an escape from all of the things on my mind. Just to be.

We went through a variety of poses. I learned them quickly but also found that yoga is a slow and deliberate practice, and she spoke to us the entire time, letting us know it was okay to go at our own pace and just generally being gentle and kind. The room was filled with the sounds of breathing and soft melodies.

As the class progressed I noticed how present I was becoming. It felt as if I was in a trance, that my complete attention was on my body and the way I was using it to stretch and balance my body. I became more comfortable as she gave us positive feedback on the way we were moving, and I chose to take those words as if she were directly addressing me. Not because she couldn’t compliment anyone else, of course, but because in that moment it felt nice to be told I was doing it properly.

My favorite poses were the ones that involve balance. Typically I do not feel like a well balanced person. I feel generally uncoordinated and clumsy. I drop things and run into things and almost fall down a lot. What I found is that when my mind is free of clutter, I am actually a very balanced person. We did the tree pose, which if you do not know look like this:

This is the classic yoga pose that everyone thinks of. I was sure that I was going to fall right over. As a matter of fact, I have tried that pose before just to do it, and I did fall over. But in that moment, I was a rock. I didn’t waver a bit. I just stood and focused on my breathing and existed in that moment. I felt a surge of pride at my ability to have such control over my own body. Even more interesting, even though I am left-side dominant because I am left handed, I had more control and a sense of balance when balancing on my right side. I do not know why this is, but it fascinated me. I’ll have to ask my yoga teacher next class.

Here is another pose we did to focus on balance. Again, something I have tried just to be silly me, but usually involved falling. This time, again, I was still. I learned that I am actually not that uncoordinated, nor am I that clumsy. I am actually a person with grace and balance, but in my every day life I do not feel that. I think it’s because the layers of crap inside my brain prevent me from finding balance.

Balance as been a big conversation for the past six months. Really it has been a conversation I have been having with myself my entire life. If you imagine most things as a spectrum with two extremes on either side, the ideal goal would be to find balance in the middle. I typically fall to one extreme or the other. When it comes to spending money, I either spend it all or spend nothing. When it comes to building relationships, I either throw myself in them or shut people out altogether. In terms of work ethic, I either throw myself into the job or completely slack off and am apathetic.

Existing in such an unbalanced state might explain why I feel so clumsy inside and out. It could also explain why I do not sleep well, or generally feel sickly or unhappy. Again, none of these things are debilitating, but it kind of feels like that junk drawer that you know you should organize  but never get around to doing it. So not only is it a pending task, but it’s clogging your mind. My Chakra has been a junk drawer for quite some time and yesterday I at least opened the drawer to look inside.

A lot of the class was centered around opening the body. We would fold into these poses and then just hold still. The instructor would encourage us to feel our bodies opening with each breath, and I did. It happens slowly, over time, this release of tension and feeling of quiet in every cell.

At the end of the class I felt restored, rejuvenated, and incredibly calm. Anything negative that entered my mind was viewed objectively but did not creep in and steal away my sense of peace. As a matter of fact, when I went to the locker room I saw that my sister had left me a voice mail complaining about one of her professors. She had a bad day at school and was just calling to vent. As I was sitting and listening to the voice mail, all I could think was that she should do some yoga. I felt the negativity and the stress and tension in her voice, and I just wanted it to go away for her.

So, naturally, this morning when I woke up and felt that sense of dread, that sense of “don’t even want to roll out of bed, can’t I just fall back asleep and forget about it all?” I decided that what I really needed was to find my center. So, I threw on my yoga pants and found a music channel on cable that had similar music, and sat down.

At first, I was too focused on finding my center that I didn’t really find it at all. It’s not something that you can try to do, rather it is something that you relax and open yourself up to and then it’s there. It’s always there, but I think I have too many other things piled on top of it and it gets smothered. It should be the foremost thing in my mind all the time.

So, after doing that for a while, I felt much better. I’m sitting at my dining room table, still listening to the music, with a smile on my face because I feel great. Those aforementioned feelings are gone. Instead I feel rested, for once, and still inside. I am aware of my to do list, and aware of those choices, and aware of all of it – but the negativity is gone.

My eventual goal is to always be at my center. For now I will continue practicing yoga to find it, and I hope to incorporate those practices into every day life. There is no reason why I can’t find my center while I’m driving, just by breathing and being mindful of those breaths.

I would love to be the kind of person that does not feel stress. Stress is a poison to the mind and body. Things can be accomplished without pressure, just by willpower and choice. I want to be a more decisive person rather than a reactive one. I want to be in tune with my body and mind and find harmony.

Another goal is to find detachment from anger and pain. I know that pain and anger are important feelings, but I think it would be nice to reach a level of enlightenment where anger and pain are not driving forces in my emotional well being. What I mean is, I should know that I feel them, but they should not have power over me. The same goes for sadness as well as joy. I want to feel in complete control of my emotions and make decisions based on reason and calmness, not react to feelings.

I would love to cut caffeine out of my diet. False. I love caffeine. Also false. What I love is coffee. I drink it black, I love the flavor of coffee, and I love drinking something warm. But I know the negative affects of caffeine on the body and I also know that because I love the flavor and warmth, I drink way too much. A pot a day, I would guess. I drink more coffee than I drink water. Still mulling over a possible substitute for this. What tastes good and is warm without the negative side effects? A woman I work this cut out coffee and she feels great. A friend of mine did the same thing, and he feels great as well. These people inspire me to let it go.

I would love to feel fit. By fit, I mean I would love to exercise without feeling out of breath, without breaking a sweat. I would love to feel physically capable of exerting myself with ease. I would love to run a 5k. I would love to have a six pack and feel strong and toned. These are all goals I am working towards, by going to the gym on a regular basis. Sometimes I do the fitness classes, and sometimes I just lift and do cardio by myself. Slowly but surely I will reach those goals.

I would love to make conscious choices about what I eat. Having a naturally slender body and never gaining weight has resulted in poor eating habits. I can eat whatever I want and never gain a pound, which some might consider to be the best scenario possible. Maybe it is, but it’s not enough to be naturally slender. I want to be healthy. I want to cut out processed foods and have a more balanced diet. I want to drink more water, eat more fruits and vegetables, and less carbohydrates.

Finally, I want to quit smoking. This one is the worst out of all of them. My relationship with nicotine is a powerful one. Sure, I have a nicotine addiction, and I smoke to satisfy those cravings. But the chemical addiction is only one small facet of the entire habit. I love the feel of a cigarette in my hand. I love the feeling of pulling a drag and inhaling the smoke and exhaling it. Having something in my mouth. But I know it is so bad for me. I can say that it’s too hard because I smoke in my house and I live with other smokers, I can say it’s too much trouble because most of my friends smoke, and I can say that I’ll quit when I want to and for no other reason.

But for the first time since I started smoking, I do want to quit. Not because I really want to, of course. But because I want to. I know that doesn’t make any sense at all, but the other smokers will understand. You get to a place in your head when you decide to be a different person, and that’s the first step. Just knowing who you want to be sets the stage for becoming that way. For months after I moved here I “wanted” to go to the gym, and then one day I just went to the gym to get a membership and now I’m someone who goes to the gym.

A few minutes ago I said I “wanted” to cut out coffee, and I have had two cups this morning already. I wanted another cup, just now, but instead of pouring another cup of coffee, I brewed some tea.

It’s so many things rolled into one, and rather than feel it as a daunting task or a never ending list of ways to better myself, I’ll just do one small thing at a time. Make new habits. I’ve been doing this since I moved home in August, trying to be a different person. I feel like I’ve made so much progress since I’ve been here. The past few weeks I have been slowly sliding into a negative place in my mind. Thinking about restarting my sessions with my therapist, and generally just feeling awful. I don’t really understand why, because if I objectively look at the things I have done in the past eight months, nearly a year, it’s very impressive.

So, I suppose balance and center come from existing in the moment while being mindful of things past and things future. But really just the things, not the emotions attached to them. That’s the method that I think might work for me, anyway, considering my weaknesses and tendencies.

I think it’s going to be a wholly satisfying new chapter.

I find that I am just so thoroughly tired. Fair warning, I think this might turn into a giant whine fest. Either that or it’s going to be horribly depressing, and I’m pretty certain I’ve said all these things before. Welcome to the black hole that is my inner psyche.

So, my father asked me a few days ago what it feels like to be divorced. He and my mama are still married, 25 years and going strong. Love them to pieces, and honestly if it wasn’t for a relationship like that I’d seriously just throw in the towel. Clearly it is possible to find someone and make it work through all the shit that life has to offer. But since neither of them are divorced, they find it hard to relate.

I can sum it up in one sentence: It feels like all the light in my life is gone.

Seriously. How depressing is that shit. It’s the only way I can even remotely describe it. And the funny thing is, it’s not even about my ex-husband specifically. It’s more about being alone. Which, I know a lot of people are actually pretty good at, and kind of prefer. I myself prefer it over being in an unhealthy relationship, which proves to me that my ass does NOT belong in a relationship for quite some time. But it’s still horribly sad and lonely.

You see, when you get married, you can finally breathe. Because no matter what happens, someone always has your back. Someone sleeps next to you at night, and your subconscious feels safe because there’s this huge person next to you standing between you and almost certain death at any given moment. You feel safe because being a grownup is really scary, I mean who thought this stuff up? The electric company? Rent? Car payments? Are you fucking kidding me? Having a spouse takes some of the pressure off. Because no matter how hard it is, at least you’re not alone.

I don’t think just being in a committed relationship is the same thing. Because my husband and I lived together for a few years before we got hitched. We essentially lived the same life after we got married that we did before, minus a few things. But once you get married, go through the whole shebang, your life just shifts in a very small but very noticeable way. You feel like you can breathe a little, because someone adored you so much that they wanted to share all the horrible things with you as well as the joys. Being alone… it’s just you. And since we all know that for every joy there are one hundred horrible things happening, you can see how being alone can be such a drag.

Have a bad day at work? No worries, your husband is there when you get home and it’s his job to listen and then give you a hug and kiss and say “Fuck those bitches.” (That’s exactly what he used to say, as per my instruction.) Stressed about money? Don’t worry! Your husband can help you figure it out. Car having problems? Don’t worry about that either, because he’s good with cars. He does have a penis, after all.

And then the joys. Something amazing happened to you? He’s so excited to share it with you. Found a shiny nickel? Guess who wants to spend it with you? Or put it away, if you’re the responsible type. And the constant feeling of safety and security of never having to worry about anything at all, because no matter what happens two is better than one. It’s not that you don’t think bad things will happen, it’s that you have someone in your corner. On your team. Its you two against the world. And that feeling of security creeps deep inside your brain and builds a nest there. It gets comfy. It fights battles against insecurity and loneliness. And it always makes you feel warm and fuzzy.

What’s being alone like, in comparison? Sort of feels like you’ve failed before you even start. Because since you’ve already been a grownup with someone else and it was almost too hard to make it work, it’s unlikely you’re going to pull it off by yourself. So, in a nutshell, it feels like all the light is gone. Before at least there was someone else to watch your back, and now you have no one. You are totally screwed.

On the other hand, I really like being alone for a lot of reasons. For starters, I am in complete control of my own life and decisions. Being married, or being in a serious relationship, takes a ridiculous amount of sacrifice. I go to eat where I like to eat. I buy what I want to buy. I watch whatever TV I feel like watching, and I go to the bars I like to go to. I hang out with whatever friends I want whenever I want without having to worry about hurting my S.O.’s feelings for blowing him off. I also get to have sex with whoever I want whenever I want for whatever reason. Talk about freedom.

Unfortunately, these good feelings are sort of empty and shallow compared to that feeling of safety and security of being in love and committed to someone. I mean what good is freedom of bar when it’s late at night and I’m lonely and I just wish someone would kiss me  on the forehead and say it’ll all be alright? That it’s okay to be scared but not to worry because they have your back?

Gotta change gears. This isn’t even really what I want to get off my chest.

So, after my husband and I split up, I started seeing someone. Everything was great. Seriously fantastic. We laughed, we partied, we had sex in numerous inventive places. It was fun and exciting and incredibly easy. I was pretty honest from the get – I just got divorced, I’m just looking for something casual, I don’t want to be in a serious relationship with you. I don’t want to move in with you, I  don’t want to discuss our future, and I don’t want any pressure. I did stipulate that I wanted to be exclusive just because I’m rather possessive and the jealous type (not going to lie on that one, there’s just no point), but that was about it.

Well, unfortunately, I didn’t realize how hurt I really was. I mean I hurt, I hurt a lot, and we talked about it for hours upon hours upon hours. I just didn’t realize how much this gaping hole left by the divorce needed to be filled. And so, this person was very appealing to me on a strictly subconscious and primal level. That part of the brain where the security had built the nest? Yeah, that was empty and bleeding. Bleeding out. So I think my brain was on the prowl for a replacement, a transition guy, whatever. It’s pretty important that I make it clear that none of this was the point of any of it. He was my friend, he was an even more amazing friend and helped me get through a lot, then I realized how attracted I was to him, and became more and more drawn, and then the next thing you know we’re falling in love and now I’m in a relationship.

For awhile I tried to balance my need for space with his need for closeness and intimacy. And there were lots of times when I had conversations I had no business having. My actions and my words contradicted one another. If it’s something casual and no pressure, why are we having conversations about our possible future, even in the most relaxed way? Bad move, Kyrston. This guy somehow got it in his head that we should be further along on the relationship timeline, AKA I wasn’t treating him well enough for the level of feelings involved.

I reflected on this and decided – hey, what’s the worst that can happen? I mean nothing this person can do to me would be worse than what happened to end my marriage. And as it turns out, I was right.

So, I moved a little further along down the relationship timeline. And then things weren’t so easy anymore. The details aren’t really relevant. As it turn out, he and I aren’t really right for each other. There was a bright flame, it burned hot, and then it burned us out. What I mean to say is, that level of passion doesn’t make a relationship work. Compatibility makes a relationship work, and we don’t have a lot of it.

Then, as if the universe was doing me the biggest favor in the world, he moved away. Which is a completely separate story, but the short version is that he had an amazing opportunity and I encouraged him to take it. So he did. And I was so proud. Except then I started to panic a little. Or, at least, that shaky sense of security I was starting to get back was starting to panic. How is someone supposed to fulfill your needs from so many miles away? Crazy talk.

So, I ended our relationship, mostly because I just couldn’t handle it. I made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t him, it was me. As cliche as that sounds, it really is true. I am a fundamentally damaged human for the time being and Kyrston+Relationship=Meltdown. So, I said I couldn’t do it anymore and that didn’t go over so well, considering he refuses to speak to me. Well, perhaps this is just another small favor from the universe. Or possibly him.

I want to say that I am angry for being completely ignored, considering our last conversation went relatively well and we agreed that we should talk on a regular basis, etc. And then he just stopped speaking to me. After several phone calls and a variety of text messages I just decided to give up because no one wants to be THAT girl. Sometimes I am angry, but mostly I’m just tired of all the bullshit. Feelings are just no good, people. Well, they’re no good if you can’t manage them well.

So, I figured, I just walked away from someone pretty important to me and I better make the most of it. I am experimenting with all kinds of new things. For example, what would it feel like to text a boy you like and have them not text you back? See, I would usually interpret this in all kinds of crazy girl-specific ways and go off the deep end. He doesn’t like me back, I’m annoying him, he’s humoring me. Etc. Instead I decided to take a new approach: What if I didn’t give a shit? What would THAT feel like?

And so here I am, adopting this brand new “I don’t give a shit” mentality about things that previously, when cared about, caused me a whole lot of trouble. You don’t call me back? I don’t care. You don’t text me back? I don’t care. You ignore me? I don’t care. You don’t like me? You don’t like what I’m wearing? What I say? How I feel? My cup size? A big fat I Don’t Care. And no, I’m not saying “I don’t care” to present this hard candy shell covering the soft and gooey inside. There isn’t a soft and gooey inside anymore. But don’t worry, because I know you don’t really care either. No one does.

That’s the real beauty of it all. People are self-centered and they are selfish. They are constantly seeking fulfilling their own needs. They say things like “I’m doing me” or “I need me time” or “I need to figure stuff out for myself.” What they really mean to say is: I do not require you to fill my needs, but thank you, come again.

And that’s exactly what I said to my ex before he moved away. I need space, I need time, I need blah blah blah. What I was really saying is, I can’t do this and I don’t want to try. Because I didn’t, and still don’t, even if he lived across the street. It would have been way harder to cut him loose if we were still in town. I don’t think I have to strength for that. I think I would have gotten to it eventually, but not for a while. And things would have been messy, it being a small town and all. As it is, I’m sure I’ll run into him whenever he shows up on this side of the country again. I’m really not looking forward to it. You want to ignore me? Fine. Be my guest. But I never want to see your face again.

Okay, so maybe I do care a little bit. But I’m trying really hard not to let it get to me. See, being an insecure woman is kind of like this never-ending chain of negative thoughts that are all connected. It goes like this: Man pays attention to me=Self worth goes up. Man ignores me=Self worth goes down, plus I am going to spend hours over-analyzing the million reasons why I am not unlovable  Oh, and as an added bonus, I never really thought I was lovable anyway so I get this sick and twisted sense of satisfaction knowing I was right all along.

The new pattern of behavior is: Man ignores me=Self worth TRIES to go down. I do not over analyze why. I make up an arbitrary reason why he isn’t talking to me, because honestly… I don’t want to know the truth because it’s none of my business and it’s not relevant. So, in the case of my ex, he must have lost his phone. Or maybe he thinks I’m a terrible person even though I’m not. Or maybe he’s doing this as the last “good” deed he’ll do… to make it easier. Seriously the list goes on. And I rotate through different ones depending on my mood. Mostly I just land on that he’s a childish asshole that deserves to be slapped in the face for pushing me for more to begin with. But, that’s only on really bad days. The next thing that happens is I repeat to myself over and over that I am someone who is special, that I don’t want a relationship anyway so I shouldn’t worry about it, that the right person is out there for me a few years in the future because I know I won’t be ready for a while. This series of thoughts happens about fifty times a day and by the end of the day I am completely worn out. Haven’t had a good night’s rest since he left and I am just getting tired of all the bullshit.

What happened after he left, you ask? Well naturally because I am apparently a serial co-dependent I started thinking about what else was out there. Then I chilled out a bit. I thought about it sensibly. What do I really want? What I really want is someone who will pay attention to me when I feel like it, make me feel valued as a human being, have sex with me when I want, and requires almost nothing from me in return aside from respect and honesty. I don’t want to go to brunch, I don’t want to fall in love, and I don’t want to be looked at like I am the most amazing human being that ever walked the face of the planet. I don’t need flowers or expensive dinners and I don’t need you to protect me or look out for me. Just fulfill some basic needs and otherwise leave me the hell alone. Buy me a drink once in a while. Also, you have to be at least minimally interesting and dynamic.

I am rereading my criteria thinking that I am either a Grade A whore or the biggest bitch in the world. Some male friends of mine, ones who know the situation pretty well, seem to think that this is a completely sane and reasonable thing to request of a man, as long as you tell him what it is. I find this surprising. Isn’t there so much meaning associated with sex? Isn’t there some kind of social responsibility to move forward and make more human beings? Isn’t there such a thing as a respectable relationship between two people?

Well, if there is, I’m not interested. I’d really just rather have the perks with none of the strings attached, and I’d prefer it to be easy to obtain. Maybe that sounds bratty, but I’m not really interested in anyone’s opinion of my life choices. I only write them here because it’s so much easier than having it all in my head.

I can’t think of a way to wrap this up. The rest of the things I want to say are rather vindictive and childish. Too late for manners, I suppose.

What is self discovery? What is fulfillment? What is a life if not an opportunity to take advantage of all of the doors that just need to be nudged open? They are not closed to us, they are cracked, and the tiniest bit of pressure will make them swing open and the enticing things inside, or sometimes the horrors, are at our disposal.

And, in the event that you REALLY want something behind a door that happens to be closed, break into the nearest fire thingy, take out the axe, and break into the fucking room.

Three things have sparked a new line of thought for me. One is the observation of fate versus free will in studying Oedipus and Antigone. Two is a television series on HBO called Girls. And three is a conversation with a kindred spirit.

Fate – by my definition – is like destiny. It is the end result of a cumulative set of preordained circumstances. Free will, on the other hand, is that belief that we choose our path and are in complete control over what happens to us.

Except – there is a huge problem in that sentence. We are in complete control. Are we, really? I don’t think so. I think that there is a staggering amount of things not in our control and its our human arrogance to think anything different. I could say, for example, that I am in control of my body. Except I’m not. There are a thousand different things going on inside my body right now that I have no control over. Even as I type this I am aware that my breathing is regulated by a series of checks and balances and it is so natural that I don’t even realize it.

What if I were to have an aneurysm right now? How much control am I in then? What if I have a heart attack? What if I suddenly vomit because the cheese and crackers I ate at the bar after work were bad? My body regulates itself, and sometimes it fails.

I am in control of the car that I drive, but I’m not in control of the nail on the road that I can’t see that pops my tire. I’m not in control of other drivers on the road, their temperaments, and whether or not they might run over a nail, pop a tire, and stray into my lane before it’s too late for me to stop it.

I’m in control of where I work, but not who I work with. I certainly can’t control my managers. And although I am very happy with where I work, I think a big part of that is simply not giving a shit about things I can’t control about my job.

I care about my path in school. I can control how I work and what I define as success. But I can’t control my professor, or what his expectations are, or whether or not I think he is teaching properly. FYI – if you’re reading this, you’re doing great. It’s just an example.

I can control lots of things. But the amount of things I cannot control far outweighs the things I can. I am in such little control over the things in my life that when I really think about it, it’s incredibly frightening. So what do we, as human beings, with all our mental power, do? We talk about God and His higher purpose. We talk about fate and karmic balance and shit. When really we might all sleep better at night if we could accept the fact that we are really just floating through our own existence trying not to kill ourselves.

Some might find this all to be very depressing, but I promise you I’m not coming from a dark place. But how many times do we catch ourselves wishing things were different when they aren’t? How many times do we find ourselves to be even more depressed when we try harder to reach those goals and still find a long list of things we would change if we could?

To me it’s all one big joke.

I used to think to myself, about living, about being an adult – is this really it? Is this what it means to be human? Because although I can say I have experienced true joy, and true sorrow – at the end of the day, I kind of feel like I’m back at zero. I know that I have a full life ahead of me of more of the same. More joy, more sorrow, more bills to pay, more pain to endure. More trials, more wonders, and more miracles. More death, more suffering, more life, and better sex. But when it’s late and you’re tired and you’re looking at what’s behind you and what’s to come – you kind of have to wonder what’s the point in any of it? It’s not like any of this is going to matter in, say, ten thousand years when the poles reverse and the Earth shits itself and our species goes extinct. We are not the best thing that is to come, and so I kindly say to myself, your existence is meaningless in the grand design. You were not created with any specific purpose and you are not the best thing to happen to the world. To think such a thing is incredibly arrogant.

Now, before you all go thinking I’m going to commit suicide to escape from this nightmare, let me share with you the uplifting positive in all of this.

Here’s the great part about being honest about what it means to be alive: if none of it matters, then everything matters.

We should be able to do whatever we want. Now, there are rules to follow and social things to worry about. We do have to go to work in order to make enough money to make sure we don’t die from starvation or exposure. But after that – what exactly are we doing except feeding our own immediate needs?

I should be able to have a drink whenever I feel like it. When I was in New York, I had a cocktail at 11:30. Not because I was in New York, and not because I wanted to be bold. Because I just felt like a cocktail. It occurred to me that maybe it might be “bad” to have a drink before noon. And it’s not like I was having that drink to get through the day. I just wanted the drink. Who gives a fuck what time it is.

And if I want to have sex with someone because I want to have sex with them, and I’m protecting myself from contracting some awful disease or unwanted pregnancy, honestly who gives a fuck? What business is it of yours who I have sex with? Or if I even know their name? And if tomorrow I feel like I should probably never experience that again, then I won’t. But if there’s so little I can control, and so much terror in the randomness and pointlessness of it all, why should I worry about who I have sex with or when I drink?

I adopted this mentality, in a way, from watching a show on HBO called Girls. If you are a woman, I recommend you watch it. This shit is real. It’s a television series about a group of girls living in Brooklyn and how incredibly fucked up their lives are. Except, it’s not really all that fucked up. It’s abrasive at first because NO ONE talks about this stuff, but after a while it kind of makes sense.

For example. Main character Hannah is a writer. She writes personal essays about her experiences. Once she did cocaine so that she could write about what it was like to do cocaine. As a self-diagnosed artist, I can totally see the appeal of this. On the one hand, I was totally horrified at how she was so willing to just put coke up her nose for her writing, but then I thought about it and I thought – why the hell not?

Dear God – mom and dad – if you are reading this, please don’t freak out. I’m not going to go searching for cocaine. I live in the real world. More importantly, I live in your house, and I don’t think you’d appreciate me taking this time living with you to “find myself” through drug use.

Anyway, my point is, people should just live their lives. They should identify the constraints of their lives, find a way to be happy with them, and just fucking live them. Drink more, have more sex, have better sex, read, play outside, explore, be whoever you want to be. Become a furry, a poet, a dancer. Be honest, be sincere, be who you are.

As an experiment, I am seeing what it would feel like to be more direct. Instead of worrying about the consequences of whatever it is I have to say, I will just say them. For example, when I am attracted to someone, I should just say: I am attracted to you. I mean what’s the big deal anyway? We, as women, spend way too much time worrying about what’s ABOUT to happen. Stop it! Stop worrying altogether.

I know what will happen if I blow off my mountain of Humanities homework. I’ll get a poor grade in the class and I will have to answer to my parents, and myself. I don’t want to be a self-fulfilling prophecy that I can’t do well in school just because I’m lazy. But that’s what matters to me. If it mattered to me to go to Tahiti and spend all my days sewing shoes together for poor Tahitians, that’s where I would be. But it’s not, so I’m not, and I’m where I want to be. I’m not angry that the LNA class I have been scrambling to prepare for was just canceled, because that’s not in my control. I’ll take it when I can take it. I’ll take it and then I’ll be a licensed nursing assistant.

Now, I choose to live in a world with rules, so there are lots of things I can’t do that sound like a lot of fun. I can’t do cocaine. I probably shouldn’t have nude pictures of me floating around on the internet. I shouldn’t smoke pot all the time like I used to in the good old days because at some point I’ll probably have to pee in a cup. But if you live in a world where you won’t have to pee in a cup, smoke it if you want. Who cares?

As far as the conversation with my kindred spirit, her name is Georgia and she has a lot of experience in personal transformation. I find her inspiring. I find that when she says things to me, I feel validated. My decision to be alone, to be celibate, to be by myself – was at her suggestion. And when she tells me how frustrating the world can be, she is real, and she makes me feel validated.

None of us know what the fuck we’re doing and we don’t want to feel alone, so we shouldn’t be. And we shouldn’t waste our minimal time on this sinking ship wondering what shape the iceberg is that caused us to go down. Nor should we worry about the mechanics of the rudder, the wood the boat is made of, or the cloth the sails were cut from.

We should all just stop wasting our time worrying about things we can’t control, don’t matter, never will, and live our lives while we still have them. So that job that you can’t stand? Fucking quit it. That relationship that makes you miserable? Get out! That friend that treats you like crap? Um, we all give ourselves enough crap already, so why don’t we just get rid of as much external pain as we can.

What should we do doing instead? We should realize that we are fighting a losing battle. That the best thing we can do to weather this:

We are all just monkeys with pants.

That’s right, people. We are all just animals. We are living organisms that don’t have a chance in the grand design. We will destroy ourselves at some point. So, have kids. Don’t have kids. Smoke, don’t smoke. Be kind if you feel like it, but only if you want to. Sometimes it goes against your inner nature.

But what about our refined culture? What about our impulse control? What about that brain that separates us from actual animals? Well, you might think you are, but you’re not. Having a higher social order is like saying that we are better than bees. We’re not. Do you have any idea how efficient bees are? They do their bee thing, and then they die. And tra-la-la the bee world never stops turning, until some genetic malfunction makes some bee species extinct.

If the human race is going to evolve into a higher functioning lasting species, we aren’t a part of that genetic code. We’re all fucked. So we might as well enjoy it.

And the next time we think we’re anything more than just animals, pay attention to what happens when you have to poop. Yep, went there. Everyone poops. You can try to stop it, but you’ll regret it. We get hungry, we eat. We get tired, we sleep. We don’t have enough oxygen in our brains – WE YAWN. We like to touch things, to feel things, and we like to think. We like to ponder our own existence, and I think that’s awesome. But when did pondering turn into omniscience? When did we start to think we knew anything about anything? When really, all we know is that we get hungry and we eat. We get tired and we sleep. We gravitate towards one another, but we also exclude the weak. We feel threatened by things that are different. Our innate human nature is not something we can ponder out of. We can try to resist it, but then we feel unhappy. We don’t like the world that we built, but none of us are capable of fixing it. This ship is going down and there are no lifeboats.

I am afraid perhaps at this point I am beating a dead horse. No, I have beaten the dead horse. It’s not mangled beyond recognition. It kind of looks like the kind of art where you throw darts at paint-filled balloons.

I’m a little worried people will read this and think I’m crazy. There is a possibility that my friends won’t return my phone calls and my family will say we’re going to the movies but really they are going to have me committed.

For the record, as much as I think I have it ALL figured out, I’m not to naive as to not keep my own arrogance in check. There are so many things I haven’t done, so many things I want to experience, and I sort of feel like my mind might change about this. But, I have felt for many years, that all of this is completely pointless. We’re happy, we’re sad, we sleep, we wake. We go to work, we feel fulfilled, we sometimes don’t, friends come and go, lovers come and go, and slowly everyone around us dies until we, too, are dead.

In the meantime, we should maybe consider that the whole point of all of this is to have a blast. So why don’t we do that.