Tradition might be one of my favorite things. I love traditions. They make my world go round. I have traditions for everything. And it takes very little for me to create a new tradition. Seriously, I could like doing something one time, and it is immediately a tradition…. That I will uphold for the rest of my life. The more I write this, the more I’m thinking this is solely an autistic habit creation thing… But I’m gonna stick with calling this… tradition! And let everyone believe it’s just a cute quirk of mine.
We love Starbucks.
It’s a cathedral. This caption will make sense shortly.
Please don’t get “tradition” mixed up with “traditional.” If I call something “traditional,” that is very much a bad thing. If I’m calling something traditional, I’m being polite in front of people I don’t trust. Whatever it is is likely rooted in heteronormativity, the patriarchy, capitalism, or something generally shitty.
Traditions, though, are lovely and often little things that bring me joy. I have so many. So, so many. I’m only going to share eleven that are all over the place in importance. But I’m not going to tell you which ones are the important ones and which are not. Also some have been practiced for decades and others a year. Just know, if I ever rope you into a tradition, you’re stuck with it for life. So take part wisely.
Every time Dylan drives me to the airport, we get Velvet Taco. Every time he picks me up from the airport late at night, we get Waffle House. This tradition does not go both ways. It’s only when I’m the one flying.
Marshmallows with a little bit of hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls with Christmas music while opening presents on Christmas morning.
Dumplings whenever I’m sick or extra-spicy sad.
Getting a Starbucks I got to a new state/place. There are limits and terms to this agreement, but there is a state cup for everywhere I’ve been.
Matching outfits on trips. I rarely travel with people, but when I do, there are coordinating outfits and a lot of photos. Alex has been on the receiving end of this tradition more than anyone. Although, Amanda is a fast second.
Lighting a candle in every cathedral I go into. I’m not religious.
Going for a swing on a swing set late at night when I’m sad and can’t sleep. Extra awesome when it’s a cold winter night and the stars are clear.
Photoshoots for absolutely no particular reason other than… I can.
Birthday tattoos.
Mommy-Doggy ice cream cones every time we go to the vet.
Throwing trash in the backseat of my car and yelling “ROADTRIP!” We do not need to be on a roadtrip. We will pick up immediately.
You know… I’ve dated. I’m 31, never married, no kids. I have yet to make someone projectile vomit when they look upon me. I have a pretty successful career, not lucrative, but successful. I’m tall. I wouldn’t say I’m a catch, but I have enough going for me that I could catch a date if I felt so inclined.
Sometimes people say stupid shit, and that’s why I love being in nature… without people.
I am not so inclined, but I have spent years romantically attached to humans. I wouldn’t call myself a dating expert; although I am in possession of stories. I was thinking of some of the more ridiculous things that have been said to me while coupled up. Also hurtful things. The people we date have access to our inner selves in a way most people never will, so our partner[s] has the ability to hurt us more deeply than almost anyone. And the shitty bit is: we give them all the ammunition.
Partnership is great. Truly. Almost all of the best moments in my life have been shared with and when I was in a relationship. As I get older and more set in my ways, I’m not sure how for me it is. At least, right now, I’m so good with what is.
The world is vast. I am so glad I haven’t let the words of others keep me from exploring and living.
I like other people’s opinions; I tend to search out criticism. Especially from people I love and respect. I am not perfect, but I do try to be a safe space for people to talk about anything and everything. I also really try to make it known that I want my friends to tell me when I fuck up, fall short, hurt feelings, can do better. Life is hard, and the least I can do is love my people the best I can—so much of that is accepting my own shortcomings and doing better when I can. Don’t be mean, I am sensitive underneath all my armor, but I can take well meant criticism. Most of the time, my people’s opinions help me grow and become a better person… But these comments, not so much.
I don’t think I love you anymore. This is number one. This is the worst. It’s an absolute gut punch. I’ve heard I don’t love you anymore. That doesn’t hit quite like the addition of think. Cause guess what that means??? There’s still a chance. Which means… I’m gonna spend way too much fucking time trying to remind you of all the reasons you fell in love with me to begin with. It did work… It just took nine years, a lot of money, a bunch of tears, and then I came out as a lesbian.
You’re conniving cunt. Yes I am… Said in the heat of a break up after I was tired of having my money stolen from me.
If you need to have sex with women, that’s fine as long as you love me. Oh buddy… Sweet, sweet dumb-dumb. That is not how that works.
Ex Nothing Situationships are the best. I did cry after this one. That stung.
You’re so fucking quiet during sex. I sure fucking was. I earned that. My high school rapist, I mean boyfriend, had a penchant for violence. He liked to hear the pain he was inflicting. So I didn’t make a noise. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. No matter how hard he hit, no matter how he raped me, no matter what he said, I never even let him see me cry.
If you break up with me, I’m going to kill myself. I did. He tried. It was not a good day.
Will you marry me? This is wild. I’ve been proposed to four times. I said yes once; it did not last more than ten hours. Good times. Thank god that didn’t happen.
You show signs of psychopathic tendencies. It’s called dissociation and compartmentalization due to extreme trauma and CPTSD with psychotic features, thank you very much. I was just serviving and didn’t have time for sharing feelings. I’ve done a lot of work in the ten years since that comment. But also being private with feelings does not equate to psychopathic tendencies.
I’ve never met anyone like you before./You’re different. It’s called trauma.
You’re fat. High school rapist again. After two years of severe abuse, this was the comment that made me leave. I wasn’t fat. I knew I wasn’t fat. And there’s nothing wrong about being fat. But when it’s said the way he said it… Fuck right off.
You only talk about getting raped because you like being a martyr. Yeah… That’s it. It’s super duper fun being this open and honest with the entire world about my past. The pity is 100% worth the rape/death threats.
Being alone is easier than trying to explain all the things I wish I could say.
Words are my craft. I’m decent with them. They’re familiar. A lifetime has been spent honing this talent.
Feelings are my downfall. I’m terrible with them. They’re consuming and distracting and difficult to categorize. A lifetime has been spent trying to untangle the knot that other people seem to so easily figure out.
One of my greatest fears is being misunderstood, so I trend toward verbosity. Over explaining ideas, feelings, myself in writing because I want people to understand what I’m trying to say. And I prefer it in writing because I’m truly not good at processing feelings or thoughts on the spot, so I like the time I can take with the written word and the kindness it gives me in the form of editing. We can thank a lot of childhood trauma for this, among other things.
I feel like I don’t belong to the same world everyone else does. I don’t understand them, and they don’t understand me. Like there are walls keeping us apart. Except each wall has a one way mirror that I can look through to observe the world and figure out how to exist in it, but no one quite understands the way I work or how to fit into my own. So even though I trend toward verbosity, more often than not, I say nothing at all.
Everytime I start to speak, explain. To let people into my world. To share the emotions I feel so viscerally. It’s too much. Time and time again, I’ve learned it’s easier to just keeping looking through the one way mirror. To exist quietly in the background of the world everyone else enjoys. To make do with the one I have all to myself.
Normally, I contextualize everything. But I don’t feel like doing that because I’ve never liked doing that. I’m blunt, but I’ve softened my edges to make the world more comfortable. So here are eleven things I wish I could say, but I don’t.
Alone in nature and the ocean in particular is always where I feel most myself.
I miss you. Every moment of every day. I never truly knew what it felt to miss someone until I woke up without you and missed you. I wish I didn’t. I wish I wished to forget you; it would make all of this easier. But I know I’ll keep missing you until the day I can no longer miss anything at all. But I’d rather miss you than not know what missing you feels like.
Don’t touch me.
I love you. I will always love you.
I wish I weren’t gay. (I will clarify this only so far as: I LOVE being gay, and truly wouldn’t change it for the world, but it lead to an ending of a story I hoped would have no ending.)
I deserve better.
Help.
I’m meant for more.
Please don’t give up.
See me.
There is only so much I can take without breaking.
Writing is about cracking into one’s soul and extracting truth. It’s a raw and often painful process. Especially when one’s chosen genre is memoir or creative nonfiction, like mine. Fiction has never called to me; not that I don’t or can’t. Creativity is not my talent, and I’ve lived an interesting enough life to provide a good amount of therapy, I mean, content to write on for a good long time to come.
Sometimes I feel like I should just be a hermit in the wilderness I avoid so many essentially human things.
The genre is an interesting choice because I’m an intensely private person. What a conundrum. From a very young age, I realized if I shared enough seemingly personal things, I wouldn’t have to share anything of actual importance. As a writer who puts words into the world about my life and story for the purpose of starting conversations to change the world for the better, I have been able to find an incredibly delicate balance. My writing is far more honest than I am in person. Face-to-face, I have a tendency to undershare through rose colored glasses.
During the four years I was a stripper, coworkers, who I had spent thousands of hours with naked, never knew I had been raped until one my rapist walked up to my stage on my second to last night. Suffice to say, I lost my shit. I’d been hit and abused in front of these men and women for years, and they’d never seen me cry or even lose a smile. I am a well curated façade allowing people to see only what I choose, except under the most remarkable circumstances.
My ability to share an overview of my abused past or even the gory details of certain events without allowing people to know me is, honestly, exceptional. People feel like I’m letting them in, but, in reality, all they would have to do is google me to find out far more. It’s my way of testing the waters; seeing if they can and want to handle it; but I’ve done it so many times over the years, it’s just one of many stories to tell in the “This is who I am, who are you?” dance we do with new people.
As a coping mechanism to keep people at a distance there are so many things I don’t do or won’t talk about or avoid in general. Never were these choices I made consciously. Habits developed over time from experience, callousness, pain, or goodness knows. I have always held people at arms distance, only letting them get so close, only showing so much, sidestepping vulnerability in favor of mock intimacy. As you can imagine, this is detrimental to relationships of all kinds. More often than not, it has helped me survive. But I am consciously trying to move forward differently because I’m not trying to just survive anymore.
Sometimes I feel like I live in isolation surrounded by humans.
Feelings Having them. Talking about them. Other people’s feelings are welcome, valid, heard, honored. Mine… I’m sorry. What feelings? I’m just happy, rainbow, sprinkles, sunshine lady all the time, forever. I spent a very good chunk of my life ignoring the fact that feelings outside of happiness existed. When I went to college and met someone who made me confront those feelings, it wasn’t pretty. There’s a strong history of disassociating from all feelings outside of a very compact zone of happy because the moment too much joy, an inkling of sadness, a smidgen of discontent crept into that zone, I did not know how to handle it and would absolutely crumble. I’m better. I’m not great. Feelings are still hard because they’re a gnarly, interconnected yarn ball with a potential to unravel if a random string is pulled a little too much.
Being Held Touch is integral to my relationships, platonic and romantic. I’m a very touchy human. I love cuddling. I’m realizing by cuddling, I mean holding someone because I can hold people without a problem. Turn that around, not so much. Being held is hard for me. Really, really difficult. I don’t let people hold me much. If ever. Or very long. Hugs. Being the one cocooned in a cuddle. Little spoon. There’s a time limit that my body reaches where I have to let go, become the one doing the holding. I would rather stand sobbing in my kitchen with someone watching me at arms distance than be held. For me, it feels so vulnerable and intimate. There’s a sense of depending on someone, letting them take the weight of me and my pain, a transference or sharing of emotion. If I’m crying and someone holds me, I may not stop. I have this innate need to suck it up. Do it alone. Being held feels like my independence is being taken away because I’m letting someone in. Just a calm night on the couch with no drama or anything other contentedness, if I’m the one being held, I could tear up because I get overwhelmed feeling connected to someone. Even typing this, the thought of someone holding me for too long makes me antsy. I get this is problematic and that I likely need more human touch than I’m getting. Also I should learn to be vulnerable with people, but I had a really bad habit of choosing all the wrong humans to be vulnerable around, so I compensated by never leaning into people. I guess quite literally.
Attachment Getting attached to people sucks because there’s feelings, and I think I’ve been very clear on how I feel about feelings. Many people in my life have turned out to be… abusive. To put it bluntly and a bit lightly. When parents, close friends, and romantic partners are highly abusive, it makes forming attachments with new people even just as friends incredibly hard. There are some trust issues here. Staying detached makes it hurt less when I get treated like shit or they leave or they leave after treating me like shit.
Sex with Lights Off I can’t. I don’t like. In the dark, I can’t see my partner. With my past of rapeyness, I have some lingering issues. Sex with the lights on allows me to feel safe and comfortable. The likelihood I lose my shit is much lower. Fluorescent, stage lighting, super bright isn’t necessary, but I do need some light.
Crying I hate crying. This feels self-explanatory. I don’t like crying in general. But crying in front of people. Whew. No. Way too vulnerable. We’re very far outside my compact zone of happy, and I am not happy about it. If you see me cry: a) I’m really in my feelings. b) I trust you. b alternative) I might be really angry, so this is not a trust you moment. c) I am hating it while it is happening and will do everything in my emotional wheelhouse to stop immediately.
Hope This is a depressing one. I am an optimistic person for other people. When it comes to myself, I take realism to an extreme. I expect the worst, prepare for the worst, and don’t dare to hope for anything except the worst. The few times I have allowed myself to even contemplate things might be turning around… the things I was optimistic about turn out to be pretty insurmountable obstacles. I have surmounted them but always at great cost. Hope has led me to dark and even dangerous places. I just don’t. I tend to take each day, each moment as it comes, as it is. I keep going not out of hope but out of obligation, necessity, the fact others need me to.
Mixing Public and Private There are clear divisions in my life. A whole lot of compartmentalization. My home and what goes on inside it is very much a private place. Very few people know what is going on in my family. Maybe one day, I will feel like opening up more about the relationships in my life, but I keep them private. For as much as I share on social media, I keep it very much in its own lane. Whether people realize it or not, there are very clear boundaries maintained at all times. Part of this is because it’s nice having things just for me. Partially out of respect for my family and friends’ privacy. Honestly, mostly, it’s for self-preservation. Until things are cemented, I don’t write or talk about them. I DO NOT LIKE CHANGE OR EXPLAINING THINGS THAT ARE NOT AS CERTAIN AS LIFE CAN BE CERTAIN. There are three relationships I will write about with a degree of freedom, and those are my three people. One of which I spent many years romantically entwined with; the other two have always been strictly my closest friends. These relationships are going nowhere, probably. I can write about them honestly and openly because I know they love me, support me, and are stuck with me because I know too damn much.
Silence I love silence, but I have to be incredibly comfortable with someone to be in silence with them. Normally, if there is silence, I will fill it by asking lots of questions. Get the conversation moving… as far away from me as possible. Or I’ll start dancing like the uninhibited human I am for a laugh. The only time I’m really comfortable with silence is when I’m letting questions or statements sink in, allowing my conversation partner time to think and open up more than they would otherwise. I like hearing people’s stories, and silence makes other people just as uncomfortable so they fill it with all sorts of interesting tidbits. I don’t like silence because it gives people time to read me or come up with prying questions. I have a great poker face, but I don’t like to bank on it.
Prolonged Eye Contact I think most people avoid this. Eyes are telling. It’s cliché but true. This is a double edged sword. Like silence, I love good eye contact because it allows me to really see people, but it also allows them to see me. Abuse and stripping taught me to veil my eyes, but some people are good at seeing through it, calling bullshit. I rarely look at someone with unguarded eyes. One of the most interesting compliments was from a gay man in the strip club. I was 21 and tired after ten hours on my feet with four more to go. We sat and chatted for a while when he said, “You have Marilyn Monroe eyes.” Obviously I said thank you, but he continued, “You’re both beautiful. Her eyes were sad in the way your eyes are sad. It’s not a fleeting sorrow. The kind that killed her. You both guard your souls because all you’ve known is pain. It’s hard to see, but it’s there.” I felt so seen. I hated it. A stranger called me out, on the job. No thank you. It hasn’t happened since.
Confrontation This isn’t even the angry kind of confrontation; I can handle that, even if I don’t love it. I avoid confrontation in the being confronted kind of way. I find people fairly predictable. They ask the same questions in different but similar fashions. My life story and what I do isn’t exactly run of the mill, so when people find some things out, they tend to ask questions. I have no problems with questions. I love them. It allows me to share my passion with people and learn from them at the same time. Due to severe anxiety, I have tons of canned responses to an array of common questions. This makes me sound smarter than I am and doesn’t require thinking on my feet. I hate being flustered and having to come up with cohesive and interesting answers representing my truest feelings, opinions, or facts on the matter is very stressful and not something I’m naturally gifted at. It’s rare that I find someone who asks new, interesting, and nuanced questions. I have unfortunately found one of those humans recently, and she’s full of smart people questions. It’s throwing me off my game, and I’m realizing just how much I rely on these go-to answers. I say unfortunately but actually it’s fascinating the questions she asks because it makes me think and forces me to articulate things I do not usually disclose or even formulate into cohesive ideas outside of the thought clouds in my brain. I end up sounding like a bumbling stream of consciousness rather than the tenacious writer I pretend to be. I am a writer not a speaker. I can edit words on a page. I cannot go back three days later and say, “Hey, remember that miniscule conversation we had twelve days ago in passing? No? Well, I can’t stop thinking about it, so here is my dissertation on it anyway.” I HATE, HATE, HATE not being clear or concise. Being misunderstood is one of my great fears in life, and being confronted ups the chances I will be misunderstood.
Women Weird since I’m very gay, but also why it’s taken me so long to just be very gay. This is kind of a culmination of this entire list. Men and women are different. (The feminist in me feels the need to state that does not imply women are undeserving of equality/equity.) Men trend towards surface level interactions for much longer than women. Even after years with men, the conversations, questions, interactions are more surface level and less intrusive than with women. I’ve covered more on a first hangout with a woman than I have after a year with a man. This is terrifying when you’re a very private person with a shit ton of baggage and trauma who also has a chronic problem glossing over all of these things. Opening up about all of these things ever let alone quickly is intimate, intimidating, and rough for me and, oftentimes, for them. Women are excellent at all of the things on this list that I avoid, whether that’s biological or environmental—I’ll let scientists fight over that. Women, on average, are exceptional at creating deep bonds quickly, which I avoid… always. Making it difficult to have and keep women in my life as friends or whatever. I’ve been doing a lot of work on this since moving to Houston. I’m getting better. I’m intimidated. It’s great. I’m fine.
I’m done now. This list caused a lot more emotions than I thought it would. I only cried twice. A few more things I need to work on have been identified. Shocking I have friends or people in my life. I’m a dumpster fire. God help me.
bisous un обьятий, RaeAnna
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I love looking put together, but I hate spending money. I’m frugal because I like having a cushion to fall back on and I would rather spend that money on travels or dogs. Let’s be honest, most all of the money goes to the dogs.
At thirty, I am not financially where I had hoped I’d be ten years ago or even two years ago, but I am lucky to have a partner to share the burden with and who supports that I’m following my dreams and doing what makes me happy. I have been very, very poor, and those experiences taught me a whole lot of things. How to make due; how to save; how to look like you’ve got a lot with a little; and how to responsibly enjoy the extra money I do have.
Over the eleven years I have been on my own adulting it in the world, I’ve picked up some tricks to do bougie on a budget. Everyone deserves to look amazing without the haute couture price tags. Some things are super budget friendly and others are a little bit more extravagant, but they’re all budget friendly.
Press On Nails This is number one solely because it’s pictured. I learned how to paint my own nails incredibly well by the time I was in fifth grade because, even as a kid, I wanted to look good. Honestly, painting nails is incredibly budget friendly, but it’s time consuming and difficult to make it look salon quality. I’m a recent convert to press on nails; now, I think they’re great. The key is in getting short or medium length to keep it classy, but this is also because as a writer, I need to type, and long nails make that hard. It’s also important to make sure each nail is properly sized to your nail. And just put ‘em on! They’re quick and ready to go, and they haven’t ruined my actual nails yet. I love them for trips especially.
Designer & Designer Outlet Sale I’m a tall girl, and it’s really hard to find clothes that are long enough. When I lived in Chicago, I started shopping at designer outlets and designer stores during sale season. Being in Houston, that trend has continued. A whole bunch of clothes in my closet are designer because I hit up the sale racks and look. It takes some effort but is completely worth it. I found a $1200 Ralph Lauren evening gown for $54. I’ve bought amazing dresses and pants from Saks Fifth, Neiman Marcus, Guess, Calvin Klein, and more for less than $20. The best sales are in late August, all the summer stuff is being switched out for fall and winter, and my favorite time to shop is the week after New Year’s. So many sales on top of all the Christmas sales.
Black and White When in doubt, black and white color schemes are classy. They may not be personality forward, but they always look bougie. Black pants with a white turtleneck, damn girl or guy or they! White on white, killer. Black on black, stunning. Add a little grey in there, yum.
Accessorize I would love to tell you that I have a minimalist closet—it’s good for the environment—but that would be a lie. I love clothes and shoes. I donate what clothes I no longer want or wear, but I tend to keep things for well over a decade because they still fit and I still like them. Like everyone, I have favorites that I wear over and over again. Changing what I wear a piece with can take it from casual to dressy to casual and all over the place. It’s amazing how versatile pieces can be when you pair them with something different.
Make Sure It Fits I try everything on and only buy things that fit and are comfortable. If it’s not comfortable I won’t wear it. If it doesn’t fit in the important ways, I don’t buy it. If a piece is too long or a little too big in places, that can be fixed. But if the waist is two inches too high, it makes my boobs look weird, pulls in the crotch, or whatever, it’s not for me, even if I love it. Same goes for shoes. Buying heels and even flats that fit properly makes them look more expensive than they actually are. Please do not buy shoes that gap in the back, it will cause blisters and look like a hand-me-down.
Lipstick This is so personal. I love a good lipstick. Even if I don’t manage to do anything else, swiping on my favorite lip color makes me feel bougie and put together. Minimal effort, maximum result.
Flowers As the best friend of a florist, I am biased and think we should all support our local florists and go boutique. The budget-conscious me says any flowers will do! I love boutique flowers because they’re beautiful, unique, and made with care. BUT flowers from your grocery store, Trader Joe’s, and backyard are gorgeous. They’re a simple touch that adds life to any room or event. If you show up with flowers to an event for the host, you exude bougie behavior, and everyone likes to be thought of.
Tailor It Finding a good tailor is so important. I have one I love in Houston that is really inexpensive. I almost never spend more than $20 on a piece. Tailors can take clothes that fit and make them look custom. I’ve tailored everything from pants and dresses to a jumpsuit. It’s an amazing option when something is too long or too big. Tailoring clothes that no longer fit is a great way to keep what’s in your closet without spending a ton on a whole new wardrobe. I’m obsessed with tailoring pieces.
Accumulate Knowledge Google is free. I think one of the bougiest and sexiest things a person can be is knowledgeable, especially about things they love. Do not confuse this with condescension; that is the worst. For instance, I love tea. So I’ve read books and googled lots of facts about tea, which I happily share with friends and sometimes strangers, when not completely inappropriate. For the first time ever, knowledge is accessible to all, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to google something you’re passionate about.
Start Saving Saving when you don’t have any money at all is hard and sometimes impossible; I’ve been there. Saving when you’ve never saved before is also hard. Start by saving whatever you can, no matter how small. Whether you’re saving for old you, a vacation, a nice something-or-other, a home, or something in between. Having savings makes me feel secure and more likely to invest or even splurge on quality items or things that make me happy. I’m nowhere near swiping without thinking, but maybe someday I will be. There are so many amazing resources out there to help you get started, but having a cushion for tough times or rainy days is bougie as fuck. I love a good savings account.
Invest in What You Love Don’t spend money on things you don’t love. I buy clothes I love and that I will love for a long time. I don’t buy clothes based on trends because I’m too cheap for that. I don’t buy seasonal decor for my house because I don’t give a damn about that. I spend my money on lattes because they make me happy when I’m out with friends. I buy dog toys because I love how happy and energized it makes my babies. I used to buy books because they make me happy, now I get them from publishers. I buy art because I like to put it on my walls. I buy camera equipment because I love taking pictures. I have a well stocked tea cart because it fuels my work brain and my spirit. Investing in the things we love shows because we’re happier surrounding ourselves with our own passions. And happy is the bougiest thing we can be.
Know How You Photograph *Bonus* This is solely for looking bougie on a budget for Instagram. We all have our best angles, lighting, aesthetic, looks, colors, etc. And this is so completely up to you. Whatever you feel best and most confident in and love the way you look in pictures is what you should focus on. Looking bougie in photographs is all about setting up the shot and knowing how you want to look. If you’re shooting with a friend or even photographer and have an idea in mind, explain it to them. I often have my photographer sit where I will, and I take the shot of them so they know exactly what I want. Or you can search Pinterest/Instagram for ideas to show them. Practice in front of a mirror or take selfies with a timer/remote to see what poses you’re comfortable in and like. Don’t be afraid to try new things and then keep on trying. I delete 80% of the pictures I take, and I keep on failing and learning.
These have been some of the ways I make my life look so much grandeur than it actually is. I surround myself with things I love that make me feel happy and confident. So much of being bougie is figuring out where your priorities are and then following through. When it comes to instagram… That’s a fragment of everyone’s realities. Real life is layered and complex and fascinating. Bougie can be ugly; cheap can be stunning; happiness is always priceless.
Finding happiness on the beach in Galveston, Texas. | Swimsuit | Hat | Cover Up |
Like most people in the world, I am happy to wave goodbye to 2020. It was quite the year filled with historic events that we could have all lived without.
I’m sure that I’m in the minority with this view, but I will look back on 2020 with a certain amount of fondness. Sure it was a shit year, one might even say: It was quite the shituation. Okay, I say that. For me, 2020 brought a host of wonderful things that I am choosing to focus on instead of the globally pervasive catastrophes.
Doing my best to be cute and not ridiculous… But probably both.
I brought life into this world! Well, not personally. I did enable life to be brought into this world when I rescued a pregnant dog off the street. She had thirteen puppies. She and all the babies are alive and thriving.
I bought a house. Fuck was that a fiasco. But it happened, and I’m thankful for it.
The world started paying attention to racial inequity in a meaningful way. That being said, I hate that it’s still a problem and everything that transpired in order to draw attention to the systemic racism existing in this country. A lot of people have definitely lost interest in the issue, but so many people’s eyes were opened to the problem. I’m hoping good will continue to come out of the atrocities of 2020.
I got a lot of reading done. I was able to really plow through my reading list. Unfortunately, I have even more books on my reading pile now… So hopefully, I can keep up the reading stream.
Trump did not win the election. Thank fucking God.
My priorities were evaluated. Being stranded at home with six dogs, I had a lot of time at home with my immediate family to think about life. So many of my life choices, I am very proud of. Going forward in a post-pandemic world, I’m looking forward to continuing to chase my dreams and happiness.
We elected a woman of color to the Vice Presidency. I am so thrilled about this.
I made new friends.
I took a semi-break from writing and fell back in love with it. It wasn’t so much of a conscious break as it was a break due to circumstance. I didn’t have time to write and COVID put a dent in the amount of projects I was receiving. Being forced into taking a break from writing helped me solidify my love of my job. So hopefully, you’ll be seeing more consistent and more interesting writing coming from this lady.
I worked the election as a poll worker. It was a fascinating experience, and it solidified a lot of opinions I had and opinions I didn’t even know I held. It opened my eyes to so many things, I was never even aware of as a voter. It was exhausting emotionally and physically, but I am so glad I did it.
I hit ten thousand followers on Instagram. Yay! That number has fluctuated up and down, but I hit it and I have stayed over 10k, which means I can do the swipe up thingy. Woo!!!
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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