Moving parts


Feeling a little ready to run today. Nashville. Seattle. An old but cozy barn somewhere where maple syrup can be made directly from a tree in my frozen front yard. Where I can complain about being cold for the first winter, but proud of myself when summer comes and ready to face it again when the next fall rolls around. I want it to be 1992 and I want to be wearing a lot of bulky, lightweight fabric with wire rim glasses drinking wine with a kind, but sort of arrogant boyfriend discussing the future of the internet. That’s where my head is right now. Or even in a sun drenched studio creating things with friends. I’d be real happy with that.

I’d really rather be there. Especially instead of writing code and talking about hosting and trying really hard to learn SQL.

I’m also very curious what’s next and how I get there. An exciting daydream, but a dangerous one to wish for something that does not yet exist when the place you are living in is very real and very good.

Instead of feeling dumpy about my life right now and the less glamorous, but very high in hours, very consuming parts of my job, I’m trying to shift my focus on two things:

  1. The patience that must come with not knowing what’s down the line.
  2. What can I do about it TODAY. Like, when I get home from work in 1 hour and 58 minutes + regular traffic, what are the steps that I can take to feel like I’m make strides towards my future.

Here are a few things that I’ve come up with since typing that last sentence:

  • Start packing up my room. This is exciting, yes? I’m finally moving into my own place with my friend, Kaylee and this should not be minimized. I don’t feel like my life is moving forward? Well, that’s a downright lie! I can afford to move out. And that’s a big deal.
  • Balance my bank account… I mean, I don’t really know if the phrase “balance my bank account” really means what I think it means, but basically, my intent with that is to just take stock of my spending for the last few weeks and make sure we’re all on the same page. And by “we” I mean me, myself and I. The Corporation of Julia Patton Singular and Fabulous. Money has been spent like pre-drought water over here this month (remember when I mentioned moving out?) and that needs to be pulled. back.
  • Clean my room. Never not on the list. Life feels better when I can see my floor.
  • DO NOT look at highly styled and highly idealized photos of other people’s lives. This is unproductive for my own life. And arguably not good for theirs either. Although, small businesses are cool and I don’t want to dog them for just doing what they do, which is styling really sick, mouthwatering pictures of life stuff.

I think those are all good places to start. Maybe, if I’m feel real ambitious, I can throw a little bit of creative productivity on the pile.

San Francisco






Perfect weekend with my mom and my sister in San Francisco. This was the first of what is now officially reserved to be an annual Girl’s Weekend. Although my mom and I live nearby each other (like… down the hall), my sister lives in Seattle and is getting her Doctorate in Clinical Psychology. Which is code for “we miss her” and also “we don’t get enough time together.”

The weekend was filled with lots of walking, lots of eating, and lots of interrupting each other.

I hadn’t been to San Francisco in maybe 10+ years and dang is it just gorgeous up there. That mix of ocean and trees is my happy place and especially when you factor in the 73 degree weather we had for the entire weekend.

Shocking to no one, I realized some stuff this weekend that I’m still thinking about and working through today. For some reason, being in the city felt sometimes overwhelming to me. There is a huge part of me that loves the constant motion of a busy city, but on the last three or four city-ish vacations I’ve been on, I’ve been experiencing an interesting sense of anxiety about my life. It’s a bizarre cycle because this anxiety doesn’t come out of pure fear or dread or a root of negative emotion. Typically, I come off of these little trips feeling really extremely inspired and happy and refreshed and full of ideas and then, usually right when I’m about to go home, I get this heavy feeling of inadequacy and idea-flooding. The feeling of a million things to do all at once and no where to start. The feeling of not enough hours in the day or not enough money or time or skill to even try. The feeling that I have to be as good/better as people/things I am a fan of. Even though, that’s kind of unrealistic and is making me stop before I even start.

There’s also this whole other layer of stress about the state of the world slash our country slash children slash the value of gold. But that’s neither here nor there.

Anyway, I’m trying to take that feeling and turn it from frustrating into motivating. Not every idea I have about where I want my life to go or the things I want to learn/improve on needs to go from 0-100 overnight. Nor is there any sort of window that closes where cool ideas and inspiration can’t be revisited. I just need to start somewhere. I’m also realizing that although I am in no means a perfectionist, I have noticed that unless I know that something is going to be amazingly prolific and/or nearly flawless, I don’t even try. Which any cliched motivational quote will tell you is silly.

Here are three things that I want to start (small) with:

(we’ll go from small to medium to large in the scale of ideas that feel scary)

Calligraphy. I’ve wanted to learn dang calligraphy for ohhh… maybe three years now. No disrespect all of the very talented calligraphers out there, but calligraphy is not rocket science. Julia. Go to YouTube. Grab a piece of paper. Start small.

Children’s clothes. This is another idea that’s been rolling around for a few years now with zero movement. See that dusty little tab on the left side of this page that says “Shop Bushka”? Yeah… about that… I think I could make some pretty dang cute kid’s clothes. And I definitely know how. What is stopping me from spending a little bit of time on getting the Baby Bushka ball rolling? (A PERFECT NAME FOR A KID’S CLOTHING LINE, NO?). Who even knows. Actually, I do. It’s the feeling that there are better, cuter, more original kids clothes out there and I don’t want to be just another person selling stupid stuff on Etsy.

…but it wouldn’t be. It’d be cute and cool.

Podcast (?!?&%#*) Ok. This one feels rulllll scary. I kind oooofff….. want to start a podcast? This is a new idea. But I’m really excited by it. I want to talk to people that I think are inspiring and cool and ask them really personal questions about their lives and careers and hobbies and favorite things to do right when they wake up in the morning. Because that’s actually maybe my favorite thing to do. Is that so weird? Would that be so extremely awkward? What if no one listens to it and I’m just speaking to a void that doesn’t exist (cough cough… this blog… cough cough) and then I look like a delusional person who starts off every episode with “Hey, guys!” But there is no “guys” and I just sound crazy? Do I interrupt too much to start a podcast/ Do I talk too much about myself to start a podcast? But then, I’m all like ‘Why do I care if people care that it’s weird?’ WHY NOT TRY?!



More on this later.

All I know is that  this weekend was really fun. And I’ve just decided that I’m getting rid of the TV that is in the guest room that is actually my room because IT’S BRINGING ME DOWN AND I DON’T NEED THAT NEGATIVITY IN MY LIFE.

Full Disclosure:

I turned off all screens at 10:06 last night (had to send out one last text)
Which I’d call a success.

I also stayed within my projected phone use goal (everyone get the app OFFTIME — worth the 2.99)

I definitely only made it without screen until 7:00am this morning instead of 8:00 like I said I would.
Guys! It was hard! I wake up at 6:00 in the morning. Thanks to my own internal clock.
I really tried to wait until 8:00.
I took a shower.
I prayed.
I stretched.
Too sleepy to read.
But then… I cracked at 7:00 and checked Instagram.

Getting there?

Resolution Real Talk

Let’s talk about the fact that for the first time maybe ever, I’m feeling real good about my resolutions. I’m a resolutions kind of gal. 100%. I love a list. I love a goal. I love self-evaluation. I do not love long walks on the beach. But I do love resolutions.

This year, I’m noticing, that a lot of my resolutions/thoughts on 2016 have almost nothing to do with elusive, emotion based goals or matters of the heart (i.e. “This year I want to work on me” or “Make friends” or “This year I want to finally know what it feels like to sit in silence with my own mind”) (*eyeroolllll*) (valid sometimes) (but also… eyerroooooolll!!!), but are actual things. That I will do. Things that I’ll do with my hands. Or my mind. Or my time. Which is exactly why I’m excited. To me, this feels indicative of the fact that I’m in a good place. Lately, when people are like “How are things?” I’m can truly respond with “Things are really good. Reallllly good. A hard yes.” Which is kind the best feeling. Tell me I’m wrong. I’m not. It’s the best.

Question: Why is it so hard/takes so much practice to really be able to own saying “Things are going really well!” when people ask me how I’m doing? It really did take me a few weeks/months of covering up or underplaying happiness or even searching for a minor thing to make big to be like “Look! My life is still hard in some ways too!!” Of course there are still things that are hard! Duh. But the majority of things are really good! So Imma say that! Am I alone in that? Is this a woman thing? A personality thing? A just not used to it thing? A false humility/afraid of sounding braggy thing? I don’t know. But I think it’s kind of bull shit and I’m working on getting rid of that thing.

Back to the rezzies. I’m so excited about them. And I feel like I’m doing pretty well on a few of them… others I haven’t even attempted yet. Which is fine!

More foods made from the ground
More foods from things that used to swim (less for health reasons and more because I love to eat fish).
Less Computer time.
Less buying of things. (Since we’re talking about this, is there anyone in the OC/LA area who likes being honest in a loving way and also has a loose understanding of my personal style goals who can help me go through my closet and do a big purge? Ideal: Frances Allen. She’s a great clothes-give-away-helper but Frances Allen lives in TX. Truth in love, people. Call me.)
Go on walks immediately from work. Because of 2 reasons:
1. It’s good for me.
2. I’m a much nicer person when I have a little bit of me time in the transition between work and home. Who knew!?
Get better at Graphic Design (this is less of a goal and more of something I’m looking forward to– which is a whole list in itself– bc I actually am taking a graphic design class this Spring)
Think before I speak. This one is kind of emotional, but I have guidelines that make it an actual practice and not just something to say. I want to start asking myself if what I’m about to say is either True or Necessary or Kind (perfect world: all three!) ? If not, I’m going to try and not say it. (Worried about the necessary one. I feel that a majority of my friendships are based on the unnecessary things that I say.)
Become a better photographer. I think I’ve mastered iPhone and am ready to step up to a big girl camera with actually thinking involved.
Write down something that makes me happy/grateful every weekday on my cool wall calendar. Today’s entry: Foot health. #grateful
Continue to watercolor
Send more mail. Note: I didn’t say “Write more letters.” Letters take time. If there is time for letters, so be it. But also, I want to just send more mail. Contents may or may not include: A page from my 24 Hour Woman Calendar that I’m ACTUALLY obsessed with, a envelope of glitter, an actual letter, a haiku, a lock of my hair. Send me your mailing information if interested in receiving mail.

It’s a good year. I can really feel it. I was sooooo done with 2014 when 2015 rolled around. And then 2015 was fully one of those years that you look back on and I feel like I lived 7 different lives with 10 different personalities, but I’m already pumped about 2016. Today, I had scrambled eggs with cheese and herby, limey, avocado sauce on the side and that’s just not something you would have done in 2015. But it just makes so much sense in 2016.

Just spent a weekend with my Ex

I think New York is the closest I’ve ever come to having an ex-boyfriend. More on that in a minute.

Two weeks ago, I spent a weekend in Brooklyn laughing and talking, trying on sunglasses I can’t afford, mentally furnishing my future in a store full of cool bowls, taking zig zaggy walks down sidewalks to go out of my way to crunch leaves beneath my boots and talking about plans with my best friends.

My relationship history with New York is this:

Between high school and college, I was in a seriously on again/ off again relationship with New York City. I was able to spend some majorly quality time with New York City summers. My desire to work in fashion almost required this rite of passage. These summers were thick with snapshots of youth. They were tight budgeted, emotionally anxious and iced coffee drenched summers working for free for some really amazing (also sometimes really horrible) companies. There is much to be said about those times that could easily veer into my writing comfort zone of sappy reminiscence, and this post could get a whole lot longer than it already is going to be, but I’ll do my best to avoid that. That’s a whole other pot of beans.

But, real fast, I’ll say that to sum up the impact of those seasons is impossible and in short, who I am today could not be more directly related to my times in New York in high school and college. To know me now, is to know those summers.

A majority of my senior year of college was spent thinking about New York and wondering if that’s where I was supposed to be. A huge amount of my graduating class, including most of my friends were moving there, but at the time, my list of cons weighed more heavily than my list of pros and my emotion-based decision-making capabilities weren’t shouting as loud as my list of logical ones.

With that being said, even the mention of the words “New York City” will forever capture my full attention and bring on feelings of ownership over the city. The tiniest slice. The way everyone who has ever spent time in New York feels, but has absolutely no justification in saying because no one owns New York WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT MAKES IT AMAZING BY THE WAY.

So here’s where the ex-boyfriend theory comes in.

I broke up with my boyfriend. AKA: I decided not to pursue a future with New York.
It had been an on again/ off again relationship for years, but this was the final call, the end of a time, the Facebook official decision, complete with the long road trip back to California with all of my stuff in the trunk and a very self-loathing playlist on for the whole drive.
I knew our issues. And I’d decided I couldn’t move past them.
My decision or not, it sucks. Because even though I knew it was the right thing to do, it’s the end of something. And the end of things can do a number on me.
Par for the course in any break up, there was grieving. It took an honest to goodness whole year of seeing pictures of my friends living their lives in New York– essentially hanging out (and having fun!) with my ex boyfriend– to not be secretly bitter about it. I swear, I’m happy for my friends. But they’re chilling with my boo and that sucks, ok!?
Fast forward to this year when I plan a trip to visit my friends in New York. I feel ready. I feel happy with my life. Yesssss, okaaayyyy…. I’m still singleeeee…. but in like a cool way. Yeah. In a cool way.
But when I walked off the airplane, into the fresh, fall air, the love of my life might as well have been waiting for me in the baggage claim in a well pressed suit with a bouquet of wildflowers.
Not roses, for the record. Wildflowers.
In less metaphorical terms (I know– why stop now?), it took literal seconds of me sitting in Brooklyn and laughing– real, mouth full of pizza, belly laughs– with my best friends, to be fully back in the game with New York City.
I was swooning. Big time.
And at that moment, mere hours after landing in Laguardia, if you’d asked me who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I would have said New York.
How could I have been so blind for all of those years? What even were the reasons we weren’t together now? Whatever they were, I can look past them. Because New York is different now. And I’m different now. And the minute I go back to California, the packing begins.
The next two days were magical.
Memories. Flattery. Long walks with talks about the future.
That city just freaking know the way to court a lady.
But by Sunday, the cracks begin to show. The reasons why things didn’t work out the first time start popping up and it’s beginning to be painfully easier to remember why you had to say good bye.
There may or may not have even been a moment, orchestrated by a little too much margarita, where I was able to by honest with myself and New York about the state of things.
Walking alone on Monday morning through a quiet Manhattan felt like a goodbye. Again.
My writing skills fail me in trying to convey these emotions without sounding like an after school special about the pitfalls of young love. And the cliche of a young girl walking alone in New York City (maybe crying a little bit) as she ponders her mid-twenties with rosey cheeks and a coffee in her hand is not lost on me.
But by the time I got back on the plane I knew it was over.
At least for now.

And that’s what New York will always be to me. The ex boyfriend. Maybe even the love of your life. The guy who you’ve tried and tried and tried again to make it work, but just can’t. And as dramatic as it sounds, the one you’ll maybe wonder about for the rest of your life.

I’ve never actually had an ex-boyfriend. This all, of course, is all a presumption from intell I’ve received via friends with ex-boyfriends and, the best resource on accurate portrayals of love, the movies. But I’ve thought about this a lot and I feel confident in my analogy. Because up until this point, NYC holds record for one of the longest and dearest relationship I’ve had.

From the Reception Desk

What are you doing this weekend? I’ve had a busy week of social busyness that is about to turn into a weekend of social busyness. As discussed, my freshly diagnosed introvert brain wants to just be like Red wine and Scandal, but my rusty extroverted feetsies are telling me put my bra back on and go be a champ. I’m going to a Friends-giving Party tonight, which will be wonderful. I made these bars and also this old Ina standby to contribute to the smorgasbord. Ugh. I love this time of year just so so much.

I’ve been a little slack on my blogging schedule since I came back from NYC, but it’s not for lack of trying! I have three drafted posts in the queue and just haven’t had to time to sit down and flush them out to post. In the meantime, here’s a little Friday Link goodness.

Speaking of, here’s a long one about Ina (and Jeffrey! Swoon). Ugh. She’s kind of the all time best.

Just the coolest.

Embarrassing to think about how much I spent on art school when all along, I could’ve just been a tiny, 5 year old prodigy.

Can’t stop listening to this song. Or this band. They have a very Surrogate Mother sound/vibe.

Speaking of cool people and cool music, my friend Adam’s (and also, boyfriend of bestie, Spencer) band Triathalon released their new CD today: Nothing Bothers Me. I’ve been playing it all day.

Also, I wish I was as cool as Joanna Newsom.

And just in case I’ve tricked you into thinking that I only listen to high brow, alternative, pretentious people music, believe (or should I say Belieb) me when I say, there is much excitement regarding the double whammy release of both Purpose (Justin Bieber) and Made in the A.M. (One Direction). Let me reiterate and emphasize: There. Is. Much. Excitement. And in case you wanted to read a more in-depth comparison, read this.

The downsides of living in the Golden State. Don’t even get me started.

An interesting article about the Joyful, Illiterate Kindergartners of Finland. On that same note, did you see this teacher’s resignation letter? REMINDER: THEY’RE JUST KIDS!

Where is all of your donated clothing going? And is it really helping anyone?

I’ve also decided that I’m going begin giving my weekly thoughts on the weather. Because I’m going to talk about it either way. So, why not just break it into a small paragraph that you can decide to completely skip. Or not.

Weather: New York’s fall crispiness was the perfect taunt for an East Coast Autumn. Thankfully, coming back to California wasn’t as painful as it would have been if the weather was still in the 80’s like it had been when I left. This week has been low 60’s and holding. My sweater shelf has gotten a lot of play and for that reason, I am a generally happy person.

Follicle Drama: An Update

I know you’ve all been waiting with bated breath to see the conclusion of my hair decision.

To cut or not to cut? Bangs or butt cut? These are the decisions that are plaguing our generation and paralyzing a nation.

Just to keep you abreast to the livelihood of my split ends, I find it necessary to let you all know that I’ve made a decision. I’ve reached an armistice with myself and my hair and that armistice looks a lot like…

Continue reading “Follicle Drama: An Update”

I’m sorry about my face.

Can I just vent for a second?

I’ve just been put over the edge. One comment too many regarding my face not being up to the visible standard of those around me and I’ve reached blog post levels of frustration. So, here we are.

Lately, more than ever in my life, I have been on the receiving end of a nasty little douche bag called the Back Handed Compliment. Actually, scratch that. There are no real compliments in these comments. Let’s call this the Forehanded Really Blatant and Totally Uncalled for Comment. In the past few months, I can’t seem to go a week, or even more than a few days without someone commenting about, quite literally, my face. And today I ask you… What gives!?

From a coworker:
Them: “Tired?”
Me: “Nope.”
Them: “You look exhausted.”

From a coworker passing my desk while I am focused on a task:
Them: “Hey, Frowney.”
(Continues to keep walking past my desk)
(End of conversation, apparently.)

From a coworker:
Them: “Woah. Rough day?”
Me: “Hmm?”
“Rough day?”
“Um… no, not really. Why?”
“You just looked pissed off.”
“Nope. I’m just trying to meet a deadline. Can I help you with something?”

From a coworker:
Them: “Yeah- and if you could have that done by the end of the day, that’d be awesome.”
Me: “Great. I’m on it.”
“Hey– can I ask you something?”
“Are you ok?”
“….yeah! I’m doing great. Why?”
“Just because sometimes I look at you and you are smiling and seem happy and then other times I walk past you at your desk when you’re working and it seems like you hate your life.”
“Oh. Um. No, I’d say I’m markedly happy at least 95% of the time.”
“I’m sorry.” (Wait– why the hell did I just apologize?!)
“It’s ok.”
“I think… that’s just the way my face is? Like, resting bitch face maybe?” (Ugh! Why did you just say that!? Why are you justifying YOUR LITERAL FACE face to this person and categorizing yourself as a bitch in the process?)
“Oh. Haha. Yeah. Now I get it.”

From a coworker walking into work first thing on a Monday morning:
Me: “Good morning.”
Them: “Scary.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“What’s scary?”
“Your face– the way you just looked at me. It was scary.”

From a coworker:
Them: “We just talked about your resting bitch face”
Me: “What?”
“Yeah. <Coworker who will not be named> thought it was hilarious.”
“Wait. Seriously?”
(This, apparently, was brought up in conversation at a meeting with over 10 of my coworkers, including the CEO of the company)

To be fair, it’s not always male coworkers. Church ladies give great shade as well.

From a woman at church in an exchange while washing our hands in the bathroom:
Her: “Oh my goodness! You look so beautiful!”
Me: “Oh! Thank you so much!”
“You’ve finally lost all of your baby fat!”
“Oh… thank you so much…?”

Pro tip: A compliment should never have to be dug for. It should be a crisp $100 dollar bill handed over to you from the palm of someone’s open hand. Not a soggy $100 bill at the bottom of the swamp that I have to dive for in order to get the reward.

I have a hard time labeling myself as a feminist. Sometimes, I’m like hell yeah to feminism. I see the wage gap and the cat calls and the inconsistencies of how women are treated at home and in the workplace in America (even more so around the world) and my Ovary Radar starts to buzz and I get pissed off. Then there are other moments where I feel the term “Feminism” has been monetized and aligned with a specific set of political positions, which makes me want to distance myself from the whole thing. And before going to work at a traditional 9-5 job, I thought that many of the stories regarding sexism in the workplace that I had heard were most likely blown out of proportion. I’m embarrassed to admit that I have assumed that over sensitivity was to blame for the majority of male/female co-working complaints. It has been shocking and disappointing to me that, in some ways, those claims were underplayed. I’m not a sensitive person. In the slightest. And the feeling that I need to put the responsibility back on me and make a justification for how serious my face rests or the fact that I could do a better job at smiling bigger when a someone stops by my desk in the middle of the day to let them know that “Hey! Just because you are interrupting my work and want to talk about your weekend, that’s totalllyyyyy ok, because look how much I’m showing my happiness on my face!!!!!!! See?? SEE!?!!?” just isn’t fair.

But I’m just not going to do that anymore. Because the irony of all of this is that I’m a really happy person. I haven’t been this happy with my life in a super long time. I like the way that my face looks — resting or otherwise — and I like my job (in huge part because of how much I really like my coworkers). I have great friends and I’m excited about my future. I laugh a lot and I love talking to people. And do you want to know the best way to find all of that out? By talking to me. Not by making a snap judgement based on the way you assume my face should look to reflect all of that.

I don’t know if you guys have heard this one before, but as someone who has a hard time shutting her trap and finding herself with a foot in her mouth more often than she’d like to admit, I often go back to this little known proverb:

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all.”

And I’d like to add a little something more. “If you don’t have anything nice to say, consider why that is.”

Follicle Drama: The Musical

We’ve had this conversation before. But it’s been a while since I brought it up.

My hair.

I know. No one cares.

And this, in itself, actually, brings up something that I’ve really learned as I’ve gotten older: No one cares about anything.

No one cares about what you do or don’t do with your hair.
No one cares how hot or how cold you are.
No one cares how your day is going.
No one cares about how you think you got your headache.
No one cares where you are in your career. (…right?? Right?!)
No one cares who else was at that party when you’re retelling a story about the crazy thing that happened that one time.
And — this one is important– No one cares about what happened in your dream last night.

Exeption: Your mom and sometimes your dad. But mostly just when it’s about career stuff.

This may sound harsh. But it’s actually the most freeing thing in the world.

But anyway, back to my hair. The last time I made a bold hair move was in college. After graduation (which, let’s face it, is basically the dividing line between everything in my life. BG and PG) I had platinum blonde hair. I’d finally moved past the greatest mistake I’d ever made in college– bangs. And I’d learned to truly harness the Savannah humidity in my favor and rocked that natural curl like a true HBIC.

When I moved to Philly, short on funds and perhaps subconsciously making a greater statement regarding my emotional state at the time, I decided that I was going to finally let go of the 8 year phase of dying/chopping/discussing my hair every 3 months. It’s mildly embarrassing how seriously I took that decision. Changing my hair every 4 hours felt like a part of my identity that I was letting go of.

Enter my theory: No one cares.

They really don’t! I haven’t done a thing to my hair in over a year and no. body. cares. I feel that right now, my not doing something with my hair is almost as grand as a statement as buzzing it and dying it pink. My hair has never been this long or natural in my life! Sometimes, I don’t even brush it! It’s so anti-punk, that it’s punk, you know?

BUT! Lately…………. wait for it…… My Pinterest “Hair” board beckons and I feel the itch. The itch to grab a pair of scissors and have at it. Chop off INCHES. Then I have a moment of clarity and I know that 1. I always regret bangs 2. No matter how red my hair is, I’m not actually going to ever be Emma Stone and 3. I’m immensely curious what hair down to your butt cheeks feels like? Probably so cool.

But, like OJ Simpsons’s 2007 classic “If I Did It,” I can’t help but consider the possibilities……..





Every extremity feels it

Do you ever have those moments where you are just jumping out of your skin with anticipation, but the anticipation is directed at nothing specific? But suddenly there’s this feeling in your bones that possibility and the future and the rest of your life is the coolest, most experimental and bitchin-est gift you’ve ever been given? Like a Mac truck out of nowhere? It’s happening to me right now– at this very second. I’m experiencing it as such a unique sensation, that in the middle of working (shh) I felt literally compelled to start writing– to do my best at capturing this feeling before it fades out.

I’m sitting here today, as a receptionist, with goals. And dreams. And ideas. And interests. Duh. We all do. But there are moments when all of those golden pebbles of the future, kept patiently on a shelf, well up inside me like a surge and in the most literal way possible, I feel that wave of wanting and dreaming start to scream in every extremity of my body. An explosion of physical and mental inspiration. My tailbone aches. The joints in my fingers warm.The back of my arms tickle. My legs clench and it takes everything inside me not to grab my purse, get in my car and drive towards a new adventure. Or something that I think will bring me closer to that moment of sublime inspiration. What I would imagine the polar opposite, but a tiny bit as torturous as a panic attack would feel.

Do I sound insane? Am I the only one?

I think this particular hit is coming on because for the first time in a really. long. time. I can see myself closing in on what I want. Going to school for something that you’ve wanted to do your whole life and then realizing that you are changing course messed with my head. For a good and long time. But through stumblings and true honesty with myself and giving two big, fat birds to the fear inside me, I’ve started to find my course.

I’m so far from there still. I mean, hi. “GoldenComm. this is Julia.” We’ve got a little ways to go. But I feel like it’s coming into focus. I’m seeing glints in the distance. And I’m hearing good things. And people are welcoming me. And that feels damn good. And makes me want to ACTUALLY get up and dance. Until I’m good and sweaty. The sweatiest.

K. Back to work.