First Day

Firsts are always big.  First date.  First kiss.  First glass of wine.  First party.  But to me, right now the first day of school is the most important first of my life, at this moment at least.

Tomorrow is my first day as a junior in college.  Tomorrow is also my first day in my new major.  And I am terrified.

Because it is a new year I like to think that I can introduce a new me, don’t laugh, I know its cliche.  I don’t want to be the girl who changed her major three times.  Or the girl who got dumped in the blazing summer heat.  I want to be the girl who reads by the fountain.  The girl who finally studies hard.  The girl who is taking care of herself.  Or at the very least, I want to be a better Lily.

Now I know that this blog has been focused on relationships and sappy sad shit.  And I apologize for being so unbelievably self centered and or cliche, nobody wants to read about someone else’s problems.  That being said I have a problem with only being able to write what I know, so this year I intend to know more.

So here is to Fall 2016.  Here is to diving into communications.  Here is to writing about something other than my personal life, like maybe something thought provoking.  We’ll see how that goes.


I began wondering.  As people it is only natural for us to pick up quarks and sayings from those we are closed to.  It is only customary to begin liking things a significant other likes do to a shared interest in each other.  But what do you do when you suddenly have no need for these likes, these sayings, these quarks?  What happens when the person tied to these newly inherited traits disappears?

We hold on to them.  We love them.  And occasionally they slip out without us even noticing them.  This happens for quite some time until they suddenly become a part of us, no longer a part of what was.

And so then we pass them on to the next person, and they inherit them and so on.

We are constantly changing, constantly growing, constantly surrounded by new people.  New people who come in and out of our lives with impeccable timing.  I suppose that these quarks are proof that we have grown.  Proof that we have met and been changed by so many wonderful and not so wonderful people.

Because when you think about it we are all being molded daily to become the best version of ourselves so we can one day meet the love of our life.  And maybe, just maybe, he was looking for those very same quarks in his future love.

So we will keep on changing.  Keep on inheriting.  Keep on finding and loving new quarks and new people.  Because as humans, that’s just what we do.

Two Weeks

It has been two weeks since I decided I was tired of being sad.  I have endured two weeks worth of emotional autopilot.  In those two weeks I joined a gym, sorted my priorities, and attempted to eat healthier.  But, four days ago I left town for a mini vacation.  I missed the gym for four days, and my mind began to wander.

Since my routine broke weeks ago, I have set myself into a new one, the gym.  The routine I so desperately needed was racked for a mere four days, and it broke me.

In a moment of weakness I downloaded that stupid tinder ap (because I’m an idiot) and began browsing through a wide array of guys.  I was eager for a little attention.  I also was curious as to what talking to new guys would feel like.  Despite the fact that this was the last thing I should have been doing.

I got a match, well several matches, but only one truly stuck.  He liked a certain band as much as I do.  A certain band my ex and I loved.  In a stupid flirty manor we sent lyrics back to ourselves, until a certain lyric made me feel sick.

So I shut it all down.  This wasn’t what I needed.  This was the worst possible idea I could have had.

I felt the shell around my heart start to crack.  I did my best to patch it up, but that wasn’t enough.

The next night I was helping my best friend celebrate her birthday.  Her boyfriend (who is my ex’s fraternity brother was there) and I made an ass of myself.  I was bitter, I was rude, and I was also extremely crude.  This happened the last breakup.  I didn’t like this bitter person, but she made my friends laugh.  So I kept making jokes.  I kept talking loudly.  I kept falling apart on the inside, turning harder on the outside.

We said our goodbyes.  But I stayed in the parking lot.  I sat in my car, ready to drive away.  But I was stuck.  I let myself listen to a song by Manchester Orchestra and suddenly the shell cracked into a million pieces.  I felt the shards plunge into my heart and bounce around my chest.  I felt myself heaving and screaming.

Every question I had I expressed in a loud shaking voice to nobody in particular.  I yelled at the windshield as if everything was it’s fault and not his.

I don’t know why but it felt at that moment like my world was falling around me.  He was the one person who was supposed to shield me from the shrapnel.  Instead he was the one throwing it.

That night someone reminded me that it was okay to be upset.  Being numb for two weeks isn’t the right way to heal.

I thought that if I just buried my thoughts, my feelings, my anger and sadness, that I would be okay.  I thought that I would heal faster.  But the heart doesn’t work that way.

So I let myself cry and be upset, because I’m allowed to be mad.  I’m allowed to feel betrayed.  I’m allowed to feel anything that I want.  Because right now it is all about me.

It’s only been two weeks.  But soon it will have been another two weeks.  Then a month, then another one.  And soon a year.  I have all the time in the world to sort myself out.  So here’s to next month.



Two years ago I decided I needed to end a relationship in order to begin one with myself.  I had never been so selfish in my entire life.  To break the heart of someone I loved, that was the worst act I could have committed.  But I did it.  I did it because it wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fair to him to drag out a commitment I was only half committed to.  I had realized that I wasn’t in love with him anymore.  I needed to fall back in love with myself.

To be quite honest I didn’t have very much time to fall in love with myself.  All of a sudden I was whisked off into a romance full of highs and lows.  For a year and a half I sat satisfied in my seat on this relationship roller-coaster.

Three days ago the roller-coaster I was so familiar with was suddenly very different.  I felt my stomach tighten as I chugged up the hill, only too aware of what was waiting for me at the bottom.  When I sat at the top of the coaster, I was hit with everything that made up my relationship.  Every memory, inside joke, sweet nothing, all of it sat in the coaster seat with me and held on as we plunged to the ground.

At the bottom of the coaster, I was told to get off.

There was something familiar about this stop, although it was also quite different.  As I listened carefully to his explanation I finally realized what was happening.  I was on the other side of an event that I was responsible for two years ago.  My stomach churned as the bitter taste of guilt rose in my throat.  I gave this exact feeling to someone two years ago, and I had never felt worse.

I wanted to be angry.  I wanted to hate him for blindsiding me, for making me fall so deeply in love with him, for not guiding me out of the tunnel I was now stuck in.  But I couldn’t.  I couldn’t hate the person I was in love with, and I certainly couldn’t hate him for wanting to fall in love with himself.  How hypocritical that would have been!

So I accepted our fate, as awful as it was.  Two people who love each other but can’t connect due to circumstance, sound familiar?

For two days I allowed the waves of emotion to crash into me.  I floated in the waters helplessly gasping for air, just waiting for the next set of waves.  But I grew tired.  I grew tired of not being in control.  I didn’t like this feeling, this overwhelming feeling of sadness.

So I stopped.

Now, I realize how stupid that sounds.  One can’t just shut down an automatic emotional response.  But I’m not trying to shut it down, I’m simply trying to embrace it.  I understand that it is normal to shudder in pain, but I also understand that I don’t have to let it take over.  Of course every day is different, some may be easier than others.  I’m ready for that challenge, I know I can take it.

This separation wasn’t easy, for either party, but it was necessary.  We were simply seasons for one another, and now those seasons were over.  Time to start anew.

I don’t want you as  a reader (if anyone actually reads this blog) to think that I am here airing out my dirty laundry or that I’m using this blog as a platform to bitch about a breakup.  Quite the contrary, I am using this as a platform to fall back in love with myself.  I have decided that if I’m going to be honest about the situation, I need to be transparently honest.  I need to put it all out there, and writing, well writing is my outlet.

Today is day one of falling back in love with myself, and I have never been so excited.

Rome Wasn’t Built in A Day

I’m kind of caught in this internal struggle.  I want to fast-forward to when I am successful.  Well, if I am ever given the chance to.  I understand that the most exciting and fulfilling part of life is the journey.  But I’m getting impatient.  I am plagued with this fear that I won’t be successful, or that I won’t ever have confidence in whatever it is that I plan to do.

I plan to write for a living.  But what if I’ve been trapped in this bubble?  This bubble full of encouraging words with absolutely no meaning behind them.  What if its all just floating on the surface?  In this bubble I feel the words sticking to me, pinching my skin, then dissolving into my temples and swimming into my brain.

I want to fast-forward to living in New York City.  I want to be an editor.  I want to wear fancy clothes and say fancy things.  I want trips to Paris.  I want confidence.  I want peace of mind.

The ending result of my life doesn’t scare me.  It’s the process that shakes me to my core.

So the question is, how do I shake this feeling?  How do I remove these words of doubt?  They’re stuck and they hurt.  Every time I try to rip them off, I bleed.  I feel the scarring and I count each and every one.  Do I leave them?

What if I cover them up?  What if new words, new feelings, new scars, replace them?  Well then it all boils down to my own vocabulary.  What words do I want to tattoo onto my skin?  What phrases do I want to mark myself with for the rest of my life?  Phrases of encouragement.  Phrases of hope, love, excitement.  The word, patience.

Rome wasn’t built in a day.  My career, my life, my future is a process.  So maybe its time for me to stop erasing and redrawing blueprints.  Maybe its time for me to pick up the bricks and start stacking.


I have this problem where I am constantly planning everything in my life.  That doesn’t mean that it goes accordingly though.  For example, before  I even sat down to write this, I was already planning different routes in my head.  And then I realized something.  Life is a lot like writing.  If I were to write exactly what I was planning in my mind, I could only go so far before running out of words.  I can’t just plan out my life exactly as I do in mind, because it doesn’t work that way.  Everything I would want to happen would become boring, there would be absolutely no magic.

I want magic!  I want the surprises.  As hard as it is to resist planning out the perfect route, I have to allow myself to get lost.  Take each day at a time and make sure that I find myself in as many different places as I possibly can.  Because life isn’t a perfectly executed scholarly essay. Life is the rough draft that you dread turning in because you simply aren’t finished yet.  Life is full of improper punctuation, horrible grammar, and misplaced capital letters.

So here I am, scribbling letters onto a creamy white piece of paper.  Unafraid of messing up too horribly.  Only because I now have to teach myself to let go of the imperfections and focus on the good content.

Tonight I was reminded by some important people that I don’t have to know exactly what I’m doing yet.  I have all the time in the world to settle down, plan, and be boring.  I trust that every moment in my life is planned.  Planned thoroughly and wonderfully.  So maybe I shouldn’t stress, perhaps I truly don’t need to at all.  That’s enough to put my mind at ease, at least for tonight.


So, I have never written a blog.  I’ve been published.  I occasionally post cliche pictures on Instagram of my work.  But I’ve never truly had an audience.  So I’m a little nervous, don’t judge too hard.  Constructive criticism is awesome, but don’t go all Trump on me.

I guess I’m blogging because I keep telling myself I want to inspire someone with my work.  But I’ve never truly allowed myself the opportunity to try.  Until now of course.

I’ll start from the beginning then.  I am a sophomore in college who has (or had) no idea what I am doing with my life.  I would sit in the classes of my now useless prior major, and everything was going right over my head.  I felt like someone was blowing information in my face and it was just too annoying.  I looked around at all of my fellow classmates.  They were going to be successful!  They knew exactly what they were doing.  Or at least they played off dying inside really well.

I on the other hand don’t play loosing my mind off well.  Speech Language Pathology is a major designed for the good of heart, aimed at helping those who struggle, and gives out rewards in dollar signs.  I am good of heart, I want to help people, but I don’t understand enough to get those dollar signs.

The first risk I have ever taken was changing my major.  So far it’s the biggest one too.  SLP was a major that was perfect as a safety net for me.  But I wasn’t interested.  My heart would clearly sit outside of the classroom everyday.  I had to pick it up outside the door every time I left.  My heart is in writing.  I want to heal and inspire through my words, not through technical terms on a scoring sheet.

So I changed.  I became a communications major with a concentration in journalism.  Now, I can’t start any classes until the fall.  But that’s okay.  Because I’ve finally put myself in the position to better myself and clearly enjoy my time.

Okay, backstory over.  I know its a little boring but a part of me felt that I needed to write it all out.  Maybe to prove to myself that it happened?  I’m not sure.

Have you ever listened to a song and suddenly every hair on your body stands up?  You could be laying in bed absolutely exhausted, but the minute that cord strikes you’re electric.  It’s as if everything in your world has been put in perspective, for a good three minutes and forty seconds.

The song that inspired me was Cheerleader by St. Vincent.  For those few minutes I was able to transport myself to New York.  Walking down the streets.  Taking in the sounds, the smells, the air, the everything.  I could hear the sirens.  I could see the lights.  I could feel the cool spring air on my bare arms.  Then I opened my eyes and opened my computer.

I want to be somewhere else so badly.  I am crippled by the routine I am forced to participate in.  Everything is so incredibly standard.  And I am so incredibly bored.  I often find myself daydreaming (and night dreaming) of being in the big city.  Watching the people live, watching the buildings light up.

My pulse quickens at the thought of strutting down the streets and knowing exactly where I’m going.

Hopefully one day I’ll be in New York.  Maybe I’ll be a publisher.  Maybe I can wake up everyday and live out the daydreams I’ve had.