Tag: Houston

Blog + Dog, Books, Reading Lists

Literary Puppies; Big Names For Little Paws

RaeAnna

We’re doing a massive throwback to when the puppies were still babies and I was the proud mama of fifteen dogs. Keeping in the vein of: I’m so far behind in writing content for the blog, I’m showing up with these pictures taken in the middle of May 2020 when the babies were tiny and I had yet to realize I had lost all motivation. So content I meant to publish well over a year ago is finally seeing the light of day.  

This was as haywire as it looks.

As of right now, the puppies have been in their forever homes for a year and three months. I ended up keeping four and the mama along with my first rescue dog. The house is chaos, and I love it. 

When it comes to names, I believe a name is important. It is an identity. The utterance of a name evokes an entire being. I’m the owner of a unique name with meaning. My dogs are my children, and I wanted to bestow them with unique and meaningful names; even if those names would only be with them for a short time. 

Beau is the first baby I named. Her full name being Beauvoir for Simone de Beauvoir, the French writer, feminist, and existentialist. I wanted her to be strong and smart and full of character. All things that she very much is. When Tess came along, she was a pregnant teenager alone in the world, so I named her for the titular character in Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Let’s just say, her story has a much happier ending than the novel. 

Tess brought the puppies into the world on March 3 and 4, 2020. Dylan and I went back and forth naming them. To say the least, the names were not necessarily equal in creativity. No paws pointed in any direction… Just to inform, the names I chose were largely literary or historical and sometimes both. The exception being Noski, meaning socks in Russian because he had four white paws, creatively uncreative. 

My favorite thing was sitting down and letting them climb all over me.

March—Everyone thought I named her March because she was born in March. That would be coincidental. I named her for the March sisters in Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Now named Vienna, for Vienna sausage because she looked like a tiny sausage puppy.

Hardy—Named for one of my favorite authors, Thomas Hardy, who wrote Tess of the D’Urbervilles. He was a Victorian novelist, who wasn’t afraid to tackle difficult subjects and women’s struggles. Now named Marcus, for Marcus Aurelius, so yay for a creative furever dad.

Hera—[Dylan Named] He wanted to name a few girls after ancient Greek goddesses, who are strong. Yay for mythological stories. So I’m not mad about it. Still named Hera.

Boudica—A warrior Queen of the Iceni tribe, who met and conquered the Roman forces in 60 AD. Maybe not literary, but there are some great books about her! Now named Lucy!

Makeda—Named for a highly disputed woman who may or may have not existed in Ethiopia and/or the Middle East, depending on tradition. She is better known as Queen of Sheba and first mentioned in the Hebrew Bible. 

Lily-May—A combination of Lily Bart from House of Mirth and May Welland from The Age of Innocence both by Edith Wharton. Now named by Sadie.

Athena—[Dylan Named] Another girl named for an ancient Greek goddess. She’s still named Athena, but she goes by Teena.  

Oryol—The hometown of Ivan Turgenev, a Russian writer, known for exploring nihilistic themes in much of his work. Fathers and Sons is a particular favorite. He now goes by Murphy. 

They were chaos, but they were cuddly chaos.

My house has three girls and three boys. The girls were all named by me: Beau, Tess, and Makeda. Dylan named the three boys: Knight, Duke, and Bear. None are literary names. I did make Knight’s name fun by pronouncing it K-Nig-Hit. It is pronounced phonetically and not with a silent k, g, or h. People look at me weird, and I love it. I like to tell people Duke was named for Duke Orsino in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, and Bear was named for Professor Behr in Little Women. Neither is true, but I can pretend. 

bisous un обьятий,
RaeAnna

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Blog + Dog

Cost of Being a Dog Mom to A Pack of Six

RaeAnna

I love my dogs so, so, so much. All six of them. I have no favorite. They each have my whole heart because they are uniquely and perfectly themselves. 

People, who are not me, tend to fall into two categories: 

  1. Oh my God. That’s too many. You need to find new homes for some of them. 
  2. Oh my God. You are living the dream. 

To the people in the two categories, I say:

  1. Fuck you. It’s a good thing it’s not your life.
  2. I KNOW! IT’S THE BEST THING EVER.
Boys, Duke and Knight, relaxing before the vet comes in.

Life changed extravagantly after I adopted one dog. Life changed completely when I rescued fourteen and kept five. It wasn’t the plan, but I’m so happy with what is. Six dogs complicates life a bit. From travel to going out to having handy people over, there was some adjusting. Things run smoothly now, but there was a learning curve to knowing what works and what does not. They all bring their own personalities, preferences, and quirks to each and every day. We honor those but also maintain boundaries and rules to ensure the house, family, and pack are safe, happy, and healthy. 

Today I want to talk about the adventure that is going to the vet. It used to be a simple and seamless experience. One dog. Once a year. With check ins if something was out of the norm. It was easy and as inexpensive as having a rescue dog can be. 

Having six dogs… Going to the vet is an affair. When the puppies were puppies, we would load all thirteen in laundry baskets and head to the vet with Tess in tow. As they got older, we would pile them into the back seat, two at a time, until all thirteen were in. Then the same on our way into the vet’s office. Now that I have six permanent dogs instead of one, I have an entirely new process of spacing our vet trips out for two reasons: 

  1. They’re huge. I can’t imagine trying to wrangle 408 pounds of dog into the vet all at one time. It would be a nightmare. Also my car isn’t big enough. I have enough self respect and self worth to not attempt. 
  2. Money. Financially taking all the dogs to the vet at one time is extravagant.

This first year has been rough. I wouldn’t have it any other way [unless healthy dogs was an option, then I would have it that way], but it was expensive. A lot of the expense was expected, but there was a good amount that wasn’t. Tess was heartworm positive when I picked her up off the side of the road. Duke had to have dental surgery to fix his face and give him a good quality of life. Both expected expenses. Makeda ended up getting a very serious eye infection and had to have lots of tests to ensure she wouldn’t lose her eye. Good news, she’s totally fine. Duke ended up having repeated x-rays and MRIs because he has some skeletal issues. Upside, he will grow out of them, but it’s been both painful and frequent for the last ten months and will continue for eight more. Tessa had emergency surgery because she got a cut too close to her shnoot. Knight has SEVERE allergies, which did not present as allergies at first. Many tests later, it’s an easy but lifelong battle we both get to enjoy. Duke [that boy is chalk full of problems], is having mouth problems again, so back we go to the doggy oral surgeon. All of these were unexpected, but we made it work because they’re our babies. And what was I going to spend that money on anyways? Probably fancy restaurant food. I like my dogs more than fancy restaurant food. Worth it. 

Knight protecting Duke from the mean, mean vet with the pokey stick of health and wellness.

I did the math. Just to cover costs of heartworm prevention, vaccines, and check ups, it costs almost $1600 a year in Houston, Texas for six dogs. In my house, yearly vet check ups are non-negotiable. I decided to spread out the check ups to two a month in the summer. Knight and Duke in June. Bear and Makeda in July. Tess and Beau in August. It makes it easier to wrangle at the vet and easier to wrangle my wallet. 

Budgeting is super important when it comes to having six dogs. From food to supplements to saving for the inevitable yearly check ups to saving for the oopsies. I knew all of this when we decided to take on five more doggos. I have made budgets, plans, and adjustments in our life. I wouldn’t call the things I’ve given up “sacrifices;” they are adjustments. We adjusted. I gave up some trips and some fancy restaurants, but we have gained so, so much more by including them in our family and life. Even Beau loves having them around; I never thought I would say that.

I don’t want anyone to think this is me complaining. This is 100% me not complaining. BUT it is me being honest. Honest about the financial commitment of properly taking care of six dogs. Adopting is more than just bringing home a cute dog and feeding it and taking it potty. Like children and adults, they require training, medical check ups, vaccines, medication, and attention when things happen. Just like humans, dogs can and will get sick, have injuries, and more. Those take both time and money. So often, people think and talk about the time commitment that must be made when taking on a dog or two or six. We don’t talk about the monetary aspect of having a pack and the things that can and do come up. 

Celebratory “it’s all over” puppaccinos for the very goodest boys.

I count myself lucky to take on the joys and challenges of raising six fur babies with my awesome co-parent. We share the responsibilities, financial, time, and physical, of raising and tending to them. There’s a give and take for both of us; a balance we have happily managed to find. 

So if you’re contemplating adopting a dog or growing your pack and want to chat about what that means, I’m always here! I love talking about my babies and hearing from passionate dog parents.

bisous un обьятий,
RaeAnna

Books, Reading Lists

Pride Month May Be Over But Here’s An LGBTQ+ Reading List

RaeAnna

Pride was last month. Like all the other heritage months, those who belong exist the other eleven months of the year. I love Pride. I think it’s great. A month long opportunity to celebrate, learn, challenge, and spread love. For the LGBTQ+ community, Pride is every day, all day, forever. It’s an existence. 

A combination of not being able to and spreading the joy, this post is coming after Pride month has come to an end. If you didn’t dive into learning about LGBTQ+ issues or stories during Pride, there’s no better time than the present. Learning is a never ending pursuit. 

I belong to the LGBTQ+ community, but I have so much to learn as well. We all do. None of us can know all of the things. Although, that’s not going to stop me from trying. These are three of my favorite books I’ve read recently dealing with rainbow issues. If you don’t know much, these are a great place to start. They’re grounded in personal stories, so you can connect and empathize with the people that make up this beautiful community. 

Of course I posed in front of a church with this one. How could I not?

The Queer Bible edited by Jack Guinness
I loved this one so, so, so much. It’s jam packed with illustrations, stories, maps, and more. It’s told by and supports the LGBTQ+ community. A collection of essays by well known members of the queer community about their personal queer icons. From David Furnish to Tan France to Graham Norton to Mae Martin and so many more. They’re personal stories of discovery but also love letters to the people who inspired them. 
Memorable Quotes
“This book is dedicated to my queer ancestors who went before me, that I never knew existed, whose stories we’ll never know, I hope that I’m making you proud.” Jack Guinness—dedication

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I sat on a rainbow in a rainbow dress for Queer Love in Color.

Queer Love In Color by Jamal Jordan
The queer community has been marginalized for so long, but to be a person of color and queer is double the marginalization. So often the queer narrative has been told by the white community. The media has portrayed white queer stories. Where are the people of color? They exist. Jamal Jordan photographed people around the world and tells their love stories in this marvelous book. 
Memorable Quotes
“Their stories range widely, but one thing kept coming up: the feeling that, on some level, finding love felt impossible.”

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I will find color whenever and wherever I can.

The Queens’ English by Chloe O. Davis
Language fascinates me as a writer and a linguist. Words are fluid; they change with time, geography, community, and more. Words are a way of excluding and including people. The LGBTQ+ community has their own language, which evolved as much as a way to protect themselves as to include themselves. So much of queer language has seeped into the mainstream vernacular, but so much of queer language has not.
I am known for being decades if not centuries behind on slang. I’ve found mainstream language difficult to understand, and I have found queer language just as difficult because my head has been hidden in books for years. The Queens’ English is a cheeky and very thorough dictionary that opens queer terms to me and I’m sure countless others. This is a fabulous book that is simultaneously heartbreaking, inspiring, educational, and uproariously funny. One of the most important things to remember, Davis says, “Many of the terms are not appropriate for people not in the LGBTQIA+ community to use.”
Memorable Quotes
“The Queens’ English is merely a starting point for the important conversations around inclusivity, sexuality, gender expression and identity, gay slang that’s been co-opted by mainstream culture, and queer American terminology that’s been around for decades.”

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Happy reading, my dears. I hope you enjoy these books as much as I do. They’re inspiring and beautiful. They showcase the ever expanding range of humanity and our capacity to survive and love. Because love is love, and we all are exactly who we are. 

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

In My Own Words, Lifestyle

Hey! I’m Queer. Happy Pride!

RaeAnna
Does this outfit make me look gay? Good.

Hey, y’all. I’m queer. Pansexual to be specific. This isn’t my coming out. I’m fully out of the closet. If I’m being honest, I never had an I’m-not-straight talk with anyone. It’s just been something that has existed as a solid fact in my life for a decade now. My non-heterosexual identity has been talked about for awhile, but as I get older, I’m feeling the need to live more loudly in my queer identity. This story is a whole lot longer than a single blog post, and, honestly, I may turn it into a collection of essays at some point. Let’s be honest, I’m unpacking so many things about my sexuality that I have kept firmly in a box unto itself, which is very unfair to my identity and journey as a human. 

I never felt the need to come out for a whole lot of reasons. Too many to count. The two biggest being my family and my college. 

I grew up in a weird house. Conservative in as many ways as it was liberal. So much progress mired in an ideology founded in my parent’s small, Midwestern childhoods’ of the 60s and 70s. My parents were and are accepting, but they did not grasp the nuance, language, or broad rainbow spectrum. They were products of their generation, and it showed[s] in their language, phrasing, expression, and beliefs. Equally, I am a product of my own generation, education, family, and ultimately genetics. 

Cornell College, my alma mater, is incredibly liberal. The epitomization of: college is for self-exploration. My friends embodied “Do the thing. Do all the things. Try them now before life crushes us with debt and responsibility.” Damn, I love those humans. There were labels, but if you were on a journey and didn’t label anything, well that was okay too. Label it or don’t, just be a good person.

My favorite pride dress.

I remember writing, “I think I’m gay.” at twelve. I quite literally burned that piece of paper. For so many reasons I couldn’t name back then. Shame (which was not instilled in me by my parents or church, just, you know, society and the patriarchy). Isolation. Mostly uncertainty. I knew I wasn’t gay in the binary that I was aware of. Bisexuality wasn’t even presented to me as an actual sexuality… I’m not even going to get into that here. The isolation came from knowing I wasn’t straight, but knowing I wasn’t gay either. In a progressive town that had… all but no gay people (that I knew of, especially at the time), I would have been very much alone in an identity I still had no name for. For the kids reading this, this is pre-high speed internet, and I would have had to know the term to look it up in a dictionary—it’s a large book containing all the words and their definitions. I remember hearing people say, “Oh, she’s gay.” But “she” had moved out of town years before. Had I known what I was and been out in high school, it would have changed nothing because there were only boys to date anyways. 

For so many reasons, the unknown of what I was didn’t affect my adolescence in any way. Truly, there is zero trauma stemming from my pansexual existence; loads and loads of trauma from other things in my life, though!

I don’t have that trauma because of a seminal moment in my adolescence. 

But first, back story. I was an incredibly late bloomer. I didn’t get my first period until I was sixteen. I was not interested in sex until I met the love of my life at almost twenty. (I did get raped repeatedly by my high school “boyfriend” from 17 to 19. Oh hey there, trauma. Sup?) My sexuality wasn’t a crisis because it didn’t really exist for twenty years. I did not go through the boy/girl/sex crazy phase. Ever. I might be entering it now at thirty. Like I said, late bloomer. I became a sexual human at 19.5 when I fell in love and entered my first serious relationship with a human, who happened to be male. I fell in love with the human because he was and is incredible. 

More back story. As a kid, I was pretty intensely into ballet. I was also a cheerleader, had a huge affinity for dresses, played the flute, was working on being a classical pianist, had straight As for most of middle school and high school (getting raped affected that a bit), obsessed with wearing heels. In so many ways, all arrows pointed to girly-girl, on the surface. (I still present super femme.) Dig deeper into my psyche and for those who knew/know me, the gender expression and sexuality waters get a lot murkier, but I won’t get into that right now.   

Can’t Even Think Straight

On to the seminal moment. 

At fifteen, I was walking through the kitchen, having just gotten home from cheerleading practice. My mother was in the kitchen stirring spaghetti sauce. One hand controlling the wooden spoon. One hand holding the pan. One foot grounded and the other on a stool, a bit Captain Morgan-ish now that I think about it. As I walk past, she says, “RaeAnna, I have a question for you.” My mother is never this formal. The Type A personality in me froze. What had I done wrong??? “Okay?” Without missing a beat or looking at me, still very much focused on her task, “Are you a lesbian?” Not the question I was expecting at all. It was so far off my radar, I really never ever thought I would hear that question. I had always known that if I was gay that it would be no big deal. My parents would be able to accept that without a problem (probably one of the few things about the authentic me that have been easily accepted). I hadn’t really thought about it since writing “I think I’m gay” three years prior. Like I said, not a sexual human at that point in time. “Um… Not that I know of.” Again, without missing a beat, “Okay. Just asking. If that ever changes, let me know.” One of the most nonchalant conversations I have ever had with the woman. She has given me a lifetime’s worth of writing material, but this is one of the moments I look back on and respect the hell out of her for. 

If you don’t know me, if you don’t follow me, if you’re just meeting me for the first time, I present as ultra feminine, conservative, Christian, Suzy Homemaker, Type A, straight woman. I can be femme, but I also have some serious masc energy. I am absolutely not conservative; I get why people think that, but yikes no. I live my life pretty conservatively because that’s my comfort zone. Haha, trauma. But I am not conservative in any way at all. I am quite the flaming liberal, progressive, intersectional feminist. I’m not Christian; I’m atheist, but I was raised Methodist. I am definitely a Suzy Homemaker. Call me grandma; I love cooking, baking, sewing, cross stitching, knitting, crocheting, taking care of people, and keeping a clean house. I hate cleaning, but I AM Type A with a touch of OCD. Hey there, I’m neurotic, fun neurotic, still neurotic, though. I am NOT straight. I have only been in relationships with men. For a lot of reasons, none of which have anything to do with preferring men to women. 

There was never an announcement of my queerness. No discussion. No party. I never officially came out. I never felt the need. It started with an “I’m attracted to women.” progressed to “I would definitely date women.” before turning into “I would have sex with women.” and eventually became “I’m attracted to people. I could spend my life with any gender.” It was slowly and steadily established as a fact about me. It’s been the last six years that I started using the term pansexual to describe myself. It’s been in the last year that I’ve started claiming queer. It’s a journey, and I’m on it. 

Alphabet Mafia

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

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11..., Lifestyle

11… Habits I’m Trying to Re-Form This Summer

RaeAnna
A picture I took of Beau and I even before COVID and the puppy invasion… We were hiding from responsibilities then, and I we didn’t know what was coming yet.

Rescuing Tess, raising thirteen puppies, keeping four, dealing with rare doggy disorders, and surviving the pandemic did not ruin my life. BUT it did give me a really good reason to put off all my good habits. 

In my defense, I’ve been busy. 

The reality: I am no longer motivated to do all the good things I had been consistently doing in my life before becoming a pack mama. That’s right, I’m no longer a dog mom. I am a pack mama, which I can only equate to the feeling of being the very stressed Polar Express conductor as it mercilessly careens across the ice. If you haven’t seen the movie, the Polar Express does safely make it across the frozen lake… I think I see land. 

Back to my point. I had been working on developing really solid, unbreakable, healthy habits for myself in 2019 and 2020. Then Tess arrived. Then puppies arrived. Then COVID arrived. Then life stopped. Not stopped, slowed, drastically. Life changed very suddenly in very concrete ways. I stopped doing so many things I had worked really hard at doing on a regular if not daily basis. 

I had the goal of having a consistent routine before I turned 30. Hello, 30. You came exactly when you were supposed to, and yet I was completely unprepared. I wanted a routine of healthy and good habits before I turned 30 because it seemed like a good milestone. Creating a lifestyle is hard, but once it’s been done, maintaining it becomes a lot easier. I wanted to have a lifestyle I could maintain with relative ease by the time I hit 30. 

In a way, I did! Not the lifestyle I want, but an easy one to maintain. Wake up. Feed and let the dogs out. Work. Read. Eat. Enjoy exorbitant couch time with the dogs. See very few people. Sleep. These are easy things. A very manageable lifestyle, but not the one I want. 

I’m actively living my best life… aka not wearing any pants and barely managing to keep the dogs alive.

So this summer is about reforming the habits I lost in 2020 and maybe even forming some new ones!

  1. Exercise I don’t like exercise. Actually, I quite loathe it. But moving is so important. It helps just about everything. From sleep to mental acuity to aging to mood. Exercise is the key. I’m not looking to lose weight or really even change the way my body looks, I’m good with all that, but I put in the effort for my mind. My mind is the most important thing, the thing I love best about myself, the thing I want to maintain for the entirety of my life. Moving, exercise is the way to do just that. I am going to get back into doing yoga and pilates and barre and ballet. I slowed down because of the dogs, but I stopped when I got COVID. My lungs are starting to get back to a place where moving is an option again.
  2. Writing Book Critiques As a blogger with a big focus on books… I have done very little book critiquing even though I’ve been reading very regularly. I need to write like it’s my job… Oh wait, it is.
  3. Sticking to My Diet This isn’t a diet that I want to stick to. It’s a diet I need to stick to. I have a whole lot of pretty serious health issues. Staying on my diet can be hard and inconvenient and unfun, but it helps my body continue doing its job, which is staying alive. I fell out of being really strict about it because with everything going on it was just another thing on top of all the other things, and so I stopped being diligent. 
  4. Not Turning On the TV I used to be so good at waking up and not turning on the TV. Once I turn that sucker on, I have a hard time extricating myself from it. I started turning the TV on in the morning while the puppies played. I couldn’t leave them alone because they were very chewy. So TV was the easiest way to keep an eye on them without being distracted. So I’m going to start waking up and not turning the damn TV on.
  5. Maintaining A Sleep Schedule I lost my sleep schedule because of the puppies. I’ve always been bad about maintaining sleep patterns anyways; I do whatever my body wants. The problem: with my unfortunate health issues, sleep is essential. So I need to sleep regularly and enough even when my body and brain don’t feel like it, which is always.
  6. Reaching Out On Birthdays and Anniversaries I was pretty good at remembering birthdays and anniversaries for friends and family with cards. 2020 ruined that. I need to be better about it again.
  7. Getting Dressed I haven’t had many reasons to get dressed let alone get dressed up in 2020 or 2021… Or really since 2016 when I moved to Houston and became a full-time freelance writer. I love getting dressed up and wearing all the pretty clothes I’ve spent too many monies on. So I’m going to work on taking the few extra minutes to put effort into the way I look again. I do miss it. 
  8. Journaling This is not something I have ever done. As a writer, I’m a weirdo. I don’t like journaling. As a writer, I think it’s important. I’m also hoping it will help me process my anxieties, depression, life, and all those other things. 
  9. Going for Walks I used to go for walks with Beau and/or friends on a regular basis. I love walks because they get me out of the house and let me be in nature. I’ve always enjoyed walks. Plus this will help me leash train the puppies. Having a backyard has not beneficial to leash training. 
  10. Seeing Friends Again COVID really put a dent in my social life. I have missed so many friends because of social distancing and staying inside. I’m hoping as more and more people get the vaccine and restrictions are lifted, I can start seeing my people again. They’re wonderful and I miss them all.
  11. Working Regularly I used to be a bit of a workaholic. I worked a lot. Like a whole shitload. After the puppies were born and COVID affected a giant percentage of my clients, I have only been working the bare minimum. If I don’t have to do it. I don’t. This is not getting me ahead in any ways. Being a workaholic isn’t necessarily sustainable but neither is being a couch schlub. I need to find a balance between the two. 

I started slowly adding some of these habits into my life after the New Year to varying success. Starting small with the ones that are sustainable. I know I can’t make huge and sustainable lifestyle changes and immediately jump back to and improve upon what my life was before the puppies and COVID. That will only end up with nothing at all changing. I’m working on slowly adding the changes and habits in, guilt free. I’m giving myself grace to fail and sit in front of the TV for a day because change and habits don’t happen overnight. But I’m striving to do better, be consistent, show up, and work at getting into a new normal. Life will never be what it was with only one dog. That’s okay, I don’t want it to be, but I also can’t continue being a bare minimum human. 

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

In My Own Words, Lifestyle

In Seven Days, I Turn 30 Years Old

RaeAnna

This past year has been quite the year. So long!

I turned twenty-nine. 

I rescued a dog, who had thirteen puppies. 

I raised those puppies and that dog in the midst of a global pandemic while depending on the kindness of family and friends as we bought a house as we dealt with rare puppy disorders as we coped with Dylan losing his job as my work slowed down to a near halt as we criss-crossed the country. 

Me living my life.

For the first three months of the pandemic, I was stuck inside with fifteen dogs, of which thirteen were completely dependent upon their mama and me. I was run ragged to the point of complete exhaustion. My body was even starting to give out under the physical strain of toting around thirteen large puppies. 

As a constant struggler of anxiety, depression, PTSD, and in a perpetual nihilistic crisis, it was not an ideal time to be trapped inside with me, myself, and my multiple internal narratives of doom for company. 

Now, I work from home under normal circumstances, so I am very used to my own company. I used to joke about never leaving the house, but that’s not nearly true. I was always on the go. Having lunch with friends, traveling, going to dog parks, attending events, exploring fun Houston things, creating content, and so much more. My calendar and life were filled with talented people who inspire me. 

Everything changed. The puppies gave me a brief respite. They’ve helped alleviate the catastrophic train wreck that would have been my mental health with their pure existence in my life. But during the pandemic, I’ve felt like I’m watching my impending quarter-life crisis trundling right at me for all of the reasons: imagined and real. 

I turn thirty in one week. I am not one of those women who are scared of turning thirty. In fact, I quite embrace it. The vast majority of me is so ready to be out of my twenties. Those really sucked a big D. I’ve gone so far as to preemptively tell people I’m thirty for the last few months because why the fuck not. At the same time, thirty does come with its fair share of burdens.

As a woman, this is an age where culture, society, the media are persistently confronting me with an alarm clock ticking down the time left on my worth to and in this world. 

I feel like time is running out. I’m almost thirty. Society is a barrage that, as a woman, life ends at thirty. I know it doesn’t. So far all the women I know over thirty have not ceased to exist when their 10,957 day arrived. But, no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t help internalizing all the cues telling me life as I know it is over for me and, in a week, I’ll be shipped off to the glue factor with last month’s Kentucky Derby winner—who even remembers that horse anyways. I think if we took the part where I had to age in society out of the equation, I wouldn’t care at all. If I could hermit á la Michel de Montaigne circa 1571, I don’t think I would give a rats ass about aging and this post wouldn’t exist at all. Unfortunately, I must be of this world.

Me wearing the bikini and being all but thirty in this world because I can and will and won’t stop.

I would be 100% lying to you if I said, “I have not ended up covered in snot crying on the kitchen floor being held by my partner as the dogs try to figure out what’s wrong with their seemingly resilient mama because I’m getting older and the world will stop looking at me and stop caring because I have a gray hair (I haven’t found one yet; that’s not a lie) and the hints of forehead wrinkles so none of my big dreams will come true because they haven’t come to fruition yet and all this work has been for naught and fucking life is hard.” That would be a lie. It would be a lie if I said it didn’t happen at regular intervals over the last two years. I’m not scared of getting older, but I’m scared of how the world will treat me as I get older. The world hasn’t been kind to me for the first thirty years when I was apparently worth something, so how the hell is it going to be for the next seventy years? Society tells me: not great. 

Life is terrifying. There is so much to process, handle, solve, enjoy, escape, see, do, taste, smell, and avoid all the time; honestly, I love each and every one of those pieces of living life. But being an aging woman is just terrifying. I know it’s different for me than it was for my mother and grandmothers, but things haven’t changed so much that wrinkles and grays and numbers don’t matter in the world. They do. And I don’t really care for anyone to tell me otherwise because my entire life all I’ve ever been validated for is my looks and what that means for my place in the world. The marriage I could make, the doors that will open, the way life will be “easier” because I was tall, thin, fair. So for me and my life experience, the moment my boobs start to droop, my waistline starts to expand, my hair starts to thin, my skin starts to slacken, what will I be? Who will care? It doesn’t matter and has never mattered that I’m intelligent, well-spoken, a linguist, possess a wicked wit, kind, giving, accepting, an activist, a writer, a creative, a critic, a dog mom, a friend, and all the other things that actually make me me and interesting and complex. My existence has always and almost solely been validated and made worthy by the way I look. 

Who I am has always just been a positive addendum to the way I look. 

I have never liked close up portraits. My teeth are funny. My nose is weird. I’m hyper critical of everything. As I get older, I see the lines, the pores, the acne that had never been there, everything. But if I don’t take them now, I never will, and I’ll look back and say, “damnit, I should have.” And I don’t do regret.

So… I love getting older. I’m wiser, funnier, smarter, humbler, more experienced, a better listener, a better talker, a deeper thinker than I was at twenty. I think I’m cuter, but that’s probably because I know how to do my makeup better. I truly and completely love getting older. Life is so much better than it was twenty years ago, ten years ago, a year ago. I know myself more completely. I am happier at a week away from thirty than I was at a week away from twenty. 

But… I’m scared of getting older. I don’t know how the world will treat me. I know how the world has treated women. I know how I want the world to treat women. And goddamnit, I have the audacity to age like the women who’ve come before me.

Now… I can only do one thing. Wake up tomorrow and keep on living my life. I’m going to moisturize and exercise—sometimes, infrequently, it will become a habit—to fight off aging physically, emotionally, but most of all mentally. More than anything, I’m going to keep working on my dreams. I’m going to keep creating new dreams. I’m going to strive for happiness. I’m going to live my life fully and enthusiastically surrounded by weirdos who love life and me. I’m going to support women and be everyone’s cheerleader. I’m going to be kind and find beauty in my body as it changes with the days and years I have ahead of me. I’m going to write. I’m going to lift up women’s voices of all ages because the world needs to remember that we women continue to evolve not stagnate. I’m going to tell my stories because I have seventy more years of stories, and I’ve hardly started on telling the first thirty years. My life isn’t over. I’m not done living. I will age with audacity.

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

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