I knew a girl in middle school. We

were lab partners in Biology I. She

had two first names and fine

sandy hair that stuck to the crooks and calluses on your

palms like how cobwebs cling to your skin.

---

Fridays meant free

popcorn in the afternoons,

courtesy of the PTA,

but also that we’d have to hover over freeze dried animals,

dissecting their innards.

Together, we ogled through our lab goggles

the football players in their

war-torn jerseys

that squeezed and accentuated their toned arms.

---

But that one Friday in May,

the stool next to me remained

empty as I gripped the silver scalpel

and made one long slice through this cat’s

clammy, toad-like flesh on its abdomen.

I cursed her for making me do this alone.

But I tried to navigate around the various organs,

using as a reference point to locate the stomach,

what I presumed was the liver

oozing with yellow tadpole-like orbs.

I wondered aloud to the pair beside me

as I peeled the artichoke-leaf-looking-liver,

Where do you think they get these cats?

Do you think they kill them specifically for us to slice open and turn inside out?

Or are they already dead and then they suck all the juice out, turning them to jerky all for the sake of science?

---

The next Monday, she was back

in her place on her stool beside me,

albeit unusually glum.

Well, when I jokingly berated her for making me dissect that stupid cat alone,

she winced and quietly revealed that her cat,

the impossibly frail runt she had found underneath her porch,

the one she’d spent hours with for the past two weeks nursing him back to life

and had yet to shut up about, had died.

More specifically, had died at the fault of her hands, no,

her foot actually. She told me what happened was this:

---

she had woken up late for school,

well early for school

but not enough time to take care of William,

who names a cat William?

and still be on time for school.

So there she was, running around the house,

scrambling for her hair brush and tugging mismatched socks on.

Her oldest brother, one of those football players with ham hock biceps,

was hollering at her to hurry up or she’s not getting a ride to school!

She shouted back over her shoulder

No wait please, I’ve gotta feed William!

who was already mewing as loudly

as his teeny-tiny body would let him.

So she had swung her leg up and over the baby gate

that was propped in the doorway of the kitchen.

Anyways, as soon as she shifted her weight, all 107 pounds of her,

onto her right foot,

she didn’t feel the smooth, cool linoleum.

---

Rather, downy-soft fuzz.

Her wail permeated through the screen door

but her brothers had already reversed out of her crunchy gravel driveway,

had already cruised past the field and patch of woods

between her yellow house and our rural school,

and were in line on the highway to pull into the parking lot.

They did come back, she told me, but it had felt like forever

as she sat with her back against the over

and dripped so many tears into William’s gray fuzzball corpse.

Her brothers hugged her and wiped her tears.

They even offered a shoe box, a nice name-brand one

with the corners of the lid still sharp and taut,

and they dug the little grace under the pear tree in the backyard.

---

She never described what it sounded like

when she pretty much hydraulically pressed

her kitten with her own foot.

But now I morbidly wonder about the snapping and crunching of his skeleton.

Surely, the delicate fingers that formed his ribcage would collapse first,

turning him into a poor replication of a deflated lawn decoration.

Would his stomach burst like an overly inflated balloon

and meld into one with the spongy folds of the small intestine?

Would his brain smush like a rotten pumpkin in November?

---

After she explained this unbearable scene,

I mused to myself how absurd it was

that while I was worried about how dumb

I looked wearing my lab goggles

and whether I’d correctly identified the cat’s entrails,

across the expanse of the cornfield, where the Deere green tractors

were turning the earthworms’ worlds upside down,

she was cradling William’s mangled body in her palms.

---

Our teacher, after hearing the story,

never made her make up the dissection,

figuring she had enough firsthand,

even traumatic,

experience with the anatomy of a cat.

i miss that raw kind of feeling

like when you’re four years old, swimming

in the pool

without your floaties for the first time, feeling naked, vulnerable

and you jump

in the water.

Little legs are kicking, kicking trying to find the bumpy bottom

of the pool and water rushes

up your nose

and you’re holding your breath

and oh god you can’t hold it much longer and you finally take a gulping breath

of chlorinated water, panic

frazzling every sunbleached

hair on your arms

and

and

and

right then your dads hand plunges through the water

like a seagull

into ocean waves and he plucks

you by the elbow

into the july air,

gasping,

shuddering,

ready to do it all over again.

hey!

it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

come in, sit down, make yourself at home and let’s chat. i’ll let you pick my brain in exchange for some good company as long as you don’t point out my questionable capitalization habits.

when i last posted, things were very different than they are now. since then, i’ve written probably fifteen drafts and snippets of half-thoughts and poorly worded concepts that i came back to in the way that your tongue seems to brush over the gaping hole in your gums when you lose a tooth. poking, prodding, feeling it out.

i was and still am not with whatever i’ve come up with and thus have labeled this period a Creative Rut. bursts of inspiration have come and gone with nothing satisfactory to show for it. i compare it to what i imagine it is like to have Stargardt’s Disease where you can’t see things that are right in front of you, only in your peripheral. when i turn to face my inspiration and my creative streak, it blurs and causes me to passively try to make something of it out of the corner of my eye.

anyways. i’m trying to get into the habit of just posting for the hell of it. it’s a muscle that needs to be flexed a bit more. i think i’ve been partially paralyzed by fear after getting some, uh, negative reviews for what i post here. i’ve recently become hyper-aware of how i’m perceived and this clearly extends to my online presence. ugh! how lame! i know!

a few things on my mind lately…a braindump, baby!

homecoming.

i’m currently living in Hawaii and aside from working in Wisconsin over the summer it’s the first time I’ve lived anywhere but Indiana. i’m thriving here in Hawaii! school keeps me somewhat busy, but most of the time i’m playing volleyball, going to the beach, playing volleyball at the beach, hiking, surfing (more like attempting to surf), dating cute boys, and eating as much good food as possible.

my life is so sweet here, and i do hate to admit that i am dreading my return to frigid Indiana next month. being away for six months has at times been isolating and sometimes just plain weird (looking at you, Wisconsin) but also empowering and freeing. of course, i can’t wait to see my family and friends again for the holidays and have one last go ’round at DePauw before graduating in May. as i brace myself for the culture shock that will inevitably come with my impending homecoming, i’m trying my best to romanticize the Hoosier state in the ways it exists in my foggy memory. naturally, few wintertime memories stand out in my mind which just reinforces my point. when people ask me what Indiana is like, i wish i could tell them what follows but instead i laugh and resort to making a comment about living amongst cornfields in between Chicago and Indy.

i think of driving down US 35 a bajillion times between my parents houses, watching the stalks of corn whiz by and musing to myself whether this year the corn would be “knee high by the fourth of July” this year or if it’d be taller by then. i think of playing tag with the neighborhood kids and scrambling on top of the dog box that sat and rusted by our garage that acted as our base so that we wouldn’t be “it.” i never liked being “it.” i tried to explain to a friend i met here from Indy about how after the sun sets in August, it’s blue hour and it’s cool and the sky is so deep and the moon is creamy white over the tips of the corn (or the soybeans, depending on the year) and sometimes people still have leftover firecrackers from the fourth of July and the cicadas drown me with their droning and–he just didn’t get it, he said. so, i stopped rambling for fear of sounding like a lunatic. going to the gas station or the post office and hearing the old guys talk near the cash register about how it’s been a dry year, “we could use some rain right about now,” they’ll say and stick their folded-up receipt in the front pocket of their Carhartt t-shirt and shuffle their work boots on the doormat as they attempt to exit the conversation. i think about my dad and my uncle taking my cousins and i hunting at a family friend’s house and eating Oreos and watching my cousins race to finish their cans of Coke as the men talk about tree stands and other topics that definitely weren’t as interesting as the pet racoon across the yard or the hounds that howled and licked our cookie-crumble-covered fingers through the metal grates of their cages. at most of my family gatherings, someone will scrounge up a Wick’s sugar cream pie from my grandma’s freezer and then they’ll talk about how they just don’t make ’em like they used to. then, the deck of cards will come out and teams will pair off to play Euchre and each year I tell myself I’ll learn to play and I never do.

media.

film! / television!

i’ve been slowly dipping my toes into the world of indie films, especially those starring Shia LaBeouf.

• American Honey

this is probably my favorite movie at the moment. it’s shot documentary style and mostly handheld. it was so comforting yet unsettling at times. the van scene at the end has to be one of the best scenes i’ve ever seen in a movie. i won’t stop telling anyone who will listen about it.

• HoneyBoy
• Peanut Butter Falcon
• The Florida Project
• Game of Thrones (took me three years, but i finally finished it)
• Stranger Things S4
• The “Is it better to speak or to die?” scene in Call Me By Your Name
• Chef’s Table on Netflix

music!

• Preacher’s Daughter – Ethel Cain
• The Backseat Lovers dropped a new album, i don’t love it but they’re still my favorite band
• The Wolf of Wall Street Power Hour 2.0 – @DJpigskin on Soundcloud
• OG TheWeeknd songs before going out
• Taylor Swift’s Midnights album disappointed me. no drama in the DMs please!

words.

• “Where you go, i’ll go. but if not, i’ll love you where we’re at.” (09/26/22, 7:24pm)
• “Just worship the band.” – School of Rock
• “Love is that can’t eat, can’t sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, World Series kinda stuff.” – Angels in the Outfield
• “Stop making excuses for people that don’t have to make excuses for you.” – @elirallo
• “The Two Headed Calf” – Laura Gilpin (https://rolfpotts.com/two-headed-calf-by-laura-gilpin/)

thoughts and fragments and rambles.

• it gets better at SOME point, even temporarily, when you realize exactly 2 years ago you were begging someone to just try again but now you’re lying in a hammock next to a cute boy post-surf and there’s a rainbow and he kisses you and it all feels okay and then the next few days it doesn’t feel so good and that’s hard but that’s okay. maybe it doesn’t get better all at once. (10/5/22)
• always take the vintage National Geographic from someone’s magazine rack while you have the chance, especially if they give you permission. you’re dumb if you don’t.
• whatever you create doesn’t have to be pretty or eloquent or groundbreaking, for you, for me, for future employers, but if it so happens along the way then so be it
• over-caffeinated, underwhelmed
• you cannot self-love your way out of your innate need for community!
• i think that it is okay to not have huge goals and ambitions, like you don’t have to want to be the absolute best at things or get the best opportunity or career. mediocrity has felt almost like a sin my entire life but burnout and perfectionistic habits kick my ass on multiple occasions so i’m learning to slow down and be okay with it. like it’s okay to work a job that just pays the bills if it means you can live the life you want off the clock. i still have goals but they don’t necessarily look like going to grad school or being a millionaire by 25 or 30 or 40. honestly they look more like developing hard skills that will help me in daily life and traveling and flexing new creative muscles and doing things that keep me motivated and inspired and can domino to other avenues or paths for my life
• i just don’t think you’ll lose much if you’re clear and honest in your intentions with somebody
• i cut my hair off and i have never felt more like myself, like my mom said “short and sassy, very fitting!”

well. it was so good to catch up after 11 months of radio silence on my end. maybe you’ll hear from me soon, but personally, i wouldn’t count on it. not so soon, at least. maybe we’ll be talking on a different platform if i can finally get a grip. growing pains! who knows!

love ya!

Mack <333

hey there.

i thought this would be the year that i’d actually have some sense of timeliness when it came to the whole yearly recap thing. clearly, i was wrong.

try as i might, i’ve not figured out how to recap 2021 and i’m at the point where i don’t necessarily want to do so. like every single other post i write, this 2021 recap has been in my drafts for months. i sit with each post for so long, making sure that i said all that i wanted to say in the way i wanted to say it. i’m learning that being misinterpreted is part of the bit, if you will.

i started the year in a dark mental state, but i ended in a place of contentment.

2021 felt like the longest year of my life. i say that every single year and then i say “no, i mean it this time!” but i really do mean it this time. 2021 was a fresh start for me, a new season if you will. i lived a lot of different sub-seasons this year. i had a new cast of characters and the occasional love interest, with of course the same returning roles in the case of my best friends. this year, i sometimes felt out of my body and out of my mind more often than not. i asked myself two questions: what does it mean to be mackenzie c.? and what do i want and how can i give that to myself?

it was a year of putting myself first, and getting to know a twenty-something version of myself.

as cheesy as it sounds, it was truly a year of self-discovery and i’m a better person for it. dare i say i like myself. i’d befriend her in a heartbeat once i got past her RBF.

without further ado, here’s the long-winded list of things i learned from the year. take it or leave it. perhaps the key theme from the year is that everything comes full circle.

1. always check the bathroom stall for toilet paper

self-explanatory.

1. don’t match energy

i mean this in the way of don’t lower the energy you’re giving someone just because theirs isn’t at your level. if someone isn’t going to at least match the energy you’re giving, i don’t think it’s worth it but maybe that’s just me! stop playing games, it’s just a waste of time. you shouldn’t have to dilute yourself. if you’re excited about someone, be excited! just don’t be naive.

1. fail forward

view every failure as one step closer to a success. i started doing this on any plane. once you start looking at every “failure” as a learning experience (and maybe a good story to tell your friends at Starbucks) you’ll start taking more risks. failed a test? okay, call it character development, revamp your studying habits, and vow to do better on the next one. crush rejected you? okay, now you know not to use that stupid pickup line and you’re that much better at handling rejection. and plus, if you did it respectfully they probably respect that you shot your shot. denied from a job opportunity? i bet you gained some valuable interview experience and have a chip on your shoulder, for better or worse. you can always spin something into a more positive light.

1. just because you know how to communicate doesn’t mean you’re good at it

i know how to communicate effectively. i know to use “I” statements, and i’m great at active listening. i’m empathetic and somewhat patient on a good day. so, until the question was actually posed to me, i thought i was exceptional at communicating. however, i’m also extremely non-confrontational in the sense that if i don’t care, i won’t expend an ounce of energy in communicating and using this knowledge. you obviously have to be willing to resolve conflict in order to employ those steps. i told you, i’ve figured out a lot about myself. knowing this, i’m going to, uh, work on it. force myself to communicate even when i really don’t feel like it. like exposure therapy almost.

1. take everything for face value

this is something i wish that i could scream to my younger self. STOP reading into it! STOP overanalyzing it! i think so many people’s problems would be solved if they just took a step back and accepted things for what they are. though i am definitely guilty of still doing this, nothing grinds my gears more than listening to people spiral about a situation that just is not as deep as they think it is.

stop reading into subtext. if someone has a problem with you, they’ll tell you. don’t entertain passive aggression or anything of the sorts. it saves you from guessing their thoughts and spiraling.

people will tell you how they feel about you, and if they don’t then don’t worry about it. stop overanalyzing every interaction with someone and asking your friends what they think about it. also, you should tell people how you feel too while we’re on that topic but who i am to say?

i hate to tell you this, but them watching your snapchat story means absolutely nothing. i don’t care if they always view it first. did they text and ask to see you? make plans to see you? oh, get out, they didn’t? then it means nothing, go about your day and stop wasting your time. “if they wanted to, they would” applies here, but also if you want to, then why aren’t you?

1. every person won’t check every box for you

and you shouldn’t expect them to do so. different people serve different purposes in your life. some friends are only “work friends” and you don’t really hang out outside of that realm. other people are gym friends, or party friends. your significant other won’t check every box for you, even though i think they should check a majority. there are needs that we look to others to fulfill, we’re human and thrive off of connection, but there are also needs that can and should be fulfilled by ourselves. depending on one person to check your boxes creates some issues.

1. you can’t make a highway out of a dead end

know when to pivot your energy and attention to something else.

1. it’s never going to get better after the beginning

people are on their best behavior at the beginning of something whether it’s a relationship or a job or what have you. so if they aren’t meeting your standards (or surpassing them) from the start, it’s only going to get worse over time because they get comfortable. let me know if i’m wrong, but i know i’m not.

1. if it’s not a good time, it’s a good story

think of how many times you’ve found yourself in a crappy situation only to laugh about it with your friends later.

and last but not least, my personal favorite.

…if you never take it seriously, ya never get hurt. if ya never get hurt, ya always have fun…

Penny Lane, Almost Famous (2000)

i’ll see you soon

and if not here,

then somewhere groovy (& hopefully warm)

& i love you ❤

Mackenzie

Dedicated to everyone who wonders if I’m writing about them. I am.

Anonymous

i’m sitting at the tampa airport right now, surrounded by people munching on lukewarm ham and cheese croissants and sitting slumped in the uncomfortable airport chairs with those goofy neck pillows poised on the back of their necks. my flight was one of the 1200 cancelled this morning, and i have another eight hours until i’ll be on my way back to Indy.

and i ended up here, with you, like i always do when i’ve got some things on my mind.

i just finished Emily Henry’s People We Meet on Vacation. by no means was it a smashing hit in my humble opinion, but the general theme seemed to register with me to some degree. i curled up in one of those airport chairs for 2+ hours, crossing and uncrossing my legs as numbness pinged, until i closed the back cover. this has been some of the first moments alone that i’ve had in the past 4 days, and while i don’t necessarily feel lonely, it does feel strange to be traveling alone. it wasn’t until i read this quote that something stuck:

“For the first time in my life, the airport strikes me as the loneliest place in the world. All those people, parting ways, going off in their own direction, crossing paths with hundreds of people but never connecting.” (318)

lately i’ve found myself spiraling about something that i don’t know how to sum up in one shiny phrase. we’ll call it “crossing paths” for both your sake and mine.

crossing paths in the sense of how my life intersects with so many others and how my life exists in relation to others. wow! groundbreaking! i know!

look, i know that everyone and their mom has had the conscious realization of the humanity of every individual around them. like when you’re driving down the interstate and someone speeds by you in the left lane and you start musing to yourself whether they’re rushing their laboring wife to the hospital to deliver a first-born or whether they’re late for work for the umpteenth time because they spilled coffee on their uniform and their boss already threatened to fire them if it happened again. as an avid people watcher, this is one of my favorite pastimes and makes my positionality in the world more relaxing. i find comfort in knowing that when you strip our experiences down to the bare bones, i probably have a lot more in common than you’d think with the haggard businessman sitting across from the charging station from me while he makes strained calls to clients.

for a while now, i’ve been consumed by this idea of how we’re all a mosaic of people. total strangers, family members, lovers, best friends, and all those that exist in the in-between spaces and those that overlap. i’ve been asking myself how other people exist in my mosaic without being able to come up with enough answers to actually make any semblance of writing that’s more than a few lines. the answer i’ve come up with is that there’s a multitude of answers that i don’t think i could ever identify, even if i lived to be 100 years old (God Bless Betty White). i couldn’t tell you all the ways that my parents have imprinted upon me or how an off the wall interaction with a barista subconsciously changed my perspective on a topic.

but i can tell you that i still hear my ex-best friend’s voice crooning along to Halsey’s “Bad At Love” when it comes on the radio as i drive home from college. the corners of my mouth tug upwards just a bit when i go to turn the volume up and it stops at 17 and i think of how someone had to have it on an even number. my hand catches on the dial and i turn it up to 18 out of habit.

since i’ve been on winter break, it seems that every time i turn around i find myself looking into the eyes of someone i used to know on some level. which isn’t hard at all when you live in a small community. but i think it’s the varying levels of closeness that has stood out to me. people that i haven’t seen (or thought of, for that matter) for years and they’re out with their spouses. i’ve bumped into family friends, family members of friends, old teachers, old teammates, old friends. you name ’em, i’ve seen ’em. some have averted their eyes from me, some have engaged in surface level conversation with me, mentioning a mutual friend that i didn’t even know we had, or even wrapping me in a hug that says things that go unsaid. varying degrees of interactions, i guess. every single one of those people has this preserved version of me in their head that doesn’t exist anymore because i’m not that person. crazy to think that my fifth grade teacher probably remembers me as the girl that would obnoxiously flirt with her boyfriend from clear across the room DURING class. i’ve tried to tell you, i’m a clown. i also have preserved versions of others that don’t exist anymore, and i’m learning that it’s not fair to hold that version in my head. people aren’t stagnant.

as someone who tends to get attached to people, or maybe the idea of people i should say, i’ve been trying to hardwire my mind to default to detachment. not cold and not avoidant, just detached. though i’m still working on it, i’ve discovered it’s a lot easier to appreciate people and situations for what they are when you aren’t hyper-fixated on the outcome. don’t get me wrong, i think i’ll always romanticize the hell out of everyone. i like to see the best in people, so shoot me! i actually think that detachment has allowed me to soften up a little bit. i feel like i’ve been withholding a lot of love for a long time. not necessarily romantic love, but that’s what we always think of when we say “love.” casual love, platonic love, “i missed you more than i thought” love. call it warmth, admiration, i don’t know. i fall in love when someone humors me about my incessant need to ask my “hey, what do you think of…” questions. and when they’re almost painfully blunt without stopping to think about anything. i don’t feel silly when these thoughts wrack through my mind anymore. i do need help on the rumination part, though. send tips to my DMs. maybe i’m just a hopeless, sentimental romantic, but i think recklessly loving is such an underrated part of being a human.

detaching myself from people lets me see life as a revolving door with new people always flooding in (and hopefully not getting any limbs caught) while the people that have served their purpose to simultaneously exit onto the street, ready to enter a revolving door into someone else’s life.

i want so badly to clamp onto everyone that i cross paths with, old or new, and hold onto them for the rest of my days. i catch myself falling in love so easily, but not necessarily in a romantic way. i actually think that’s easier said than done. a few months ago, i had the startlingly obvious realization that everyone in my life is temporary. i may be lucky enough to have decades with a handful of loved ones, but we don’t have forever. i don’t know how long the seemingly permanent people around me will be with me, but i stopped acting like forever is a possibility. i tell people i love them and what i admire about them and appreciate the time i have because once again, we don’t have forever. nothing gold can stay!

i’ve had a lot of friendships end in my 21 years, on good and bad terms, but i don’t love any of them any less than i did when we were playing tag on the school playground or getting ready for football games. in fact, i wished i loved them more then and knew what i know now. instead of focusing on all my ex-besties and what went wrong there, i’m choosing to pour my love into my friends. platonic friendships are often seen as inferior to romantic relationships, and while the two aren’t replacements for the other, platonic love is just as powerful, if not more so, than romantic love.

i see people for what they are, who they are, because i don’t have time to wait on them to be someone else. it shouldn’t be that way.

like i said in my last post about how i had that come-to-Jesus moment in Chicago, this was sort’ve a parallel moment about my interpersonal relationships. i feel so lucky and grateful to have my life intersect with everyone i’ve ever crossed paths with. maybe at peace is a better phrase? in a way, i’ve relinquished control and have allowed people to ebb and flow out of my life, or in it. i’ve stopped trying to force things, and stopped trying to hold on so tightly. i found this quote on TikTok (of all places) that resonated with what i’m trying to convey, “I loved you during the times I got to experience you.”

to see people for exactly for what they are, at their face value is so crucial. i’ve had a bad habit of drinking the kool-aid of seeing the potential in someone which really isn’t fair because you bypass everything that that person is in that moment. i’ve missed the entirety of someone and misunderstood them because rose colored glasses were perched on my nose.

i’m especially guilty of this in romantic settings. i think it can be really hard to distinguish between liking someone as a person and liking them as a partner. i’ve gone on dates with people that i think i could be friends with as they are. if i squint, i could easily envision some sort of relationship with the version of them i’ve convinced myself they’ll be if they like me enough. of course, i think it’s important to have a list of non-negotiables, but remember you can’t nitpick every aspect of someone that doesn’t meet your criteria. ya feel me?

of course, that’s not fair to me because i’d be crossing boundaries i’ve worked hard to set for myself and not fair to them because that’s not even who they are. yet. and they may never be who you think they could be. you just can’t date someone’s potential because then you’re dating a phantom, someone who doesn’t exist. i think that you can meet people where they are without sacrificing yourself in the process.

detaching myself from looking too far ahead or expecting anything more than an off-chance run-in that went surprisingly better than i’d ever expected lets me just be happy that i had the privilege to catch up with an old friend for an hour or two. maybe we’ll cross paths again in another few years and this weird loop of interactions will continue. but if not, that’s okay too. life is lived in between crossed paths with old friends. bittersweet reunions.

this concept of crossing paths baffles me because of how arbitrary it all seems, but i don’t think it is. the butterfly effect is something i like to mull over in that weird space between my head hitting the pillow and the Sandman’s inevitable visit. “Tonight i find myself thinking about how things could have been different without wishing that they were” (my journal). how differently things could have gone and still can (and will) go, depending on what you say vs. don’t say, etc. the series “Normal People” exacerbates this. whether you’re a fan or not, it outlined the flaws of interpersonal communication and how that affects the outcome of a situation. Connell and Marianne are the “crossing paths” blueprint.

and so, it’s almost impossible to ponder my perception of other people without also considering how i exist, even if and probably fleetingly, in their mind. i wonder if people think of me and feel the same ache in the space between heartbeats that i do. i wonder if they think about me when they see patchwork jeans or when they watch “Love, Rosie” and remember how i really thought i found a hidden gem, not knowing it was a blockbuster a few years prior. but i’ll never know and that’s okay, too.

i’ll leave you with these quotes

I fall in love just a little or a little bit everyday with someone new.

Hozier, “Someone New”

Suddenly we’re not kids anymore, and it feels like it happened overnight, so fast I didn’t have time to notice, to let go of everything that used to matter so much, to see that the old wounds that once felt like gut-level lacerations have faded to small white scars, mixed in among the stretch marks and sunspots and little divots where time has grazed against my body.

I’ve put so much time and distance between myself and that lonely girl, and what does it matter? Here is a piece of my past, right in front of me, miles away from home. You can’t outrun yourself. Not your history, not your fears, not the parts of yourself you’re worried are wrong.

Henry, 336

Obviously people grow up, a voice says in my head. You think all those people were just frozen in time, just because they stayed in Linville?

Henry, 337

Sometimes I remind myself that I almost skipped the party, that I almost went to a different college, that the whim of a minute could have changed everything and everyone. Our lives, so settled, so specific, are built on happenstance.

Anne Quindlen

losing people is so interesting because no i don’t want to speak to you ever again. yes i think about you on your birthday.

tumblr, frenchtoastlesbian

touching people’s lives in a positive way is as close as I can get to an idea of religion

Keith Haring

you meet people, you love them, and then you lose them and you never see them again. and it’s inevitable and it happens to everyone and there’s nothing you can do about it

tumblr, adampvrrish

i’m a sentimental soul, and my journal reflects that.

And even if our paths crossed temporarily tonight and nothing is supposed to come of it and maybe I’ll never even see him again, I hope that we bump into each other in another few years and we can spend time together. Maybe we’d even be friends again in that one parallel universe where everything goes how I want…Or maybe I just romanticize everything and idealize everyone. Or I’m delusional.

January 3, my journal “21”

that’s all she wrote! cheers!

& i love you ❤

“Down to the bones.”

Mackenzie

my fifth semester of college ended at 4:37 p.m. on Friday in the middle of my kitchen as i submitted my final paper which was basically me trying to persuade my professor to add my favorite book to the LGBTQ+ Literature syllabus. not exactly where i expected it to end, in all honesty. regardless, it’s over and i’m more than halfway done with college which is actually very disconcerting to type out.

it goes without saying that this semester has been my absolute favorite semester yet.

after what i would consider a dark summer, i couldn’t wait to get the hell out of my town. i so desperately needed a change of scenery that i moved back to campus two weeks early.

my mom and i hauled my stuff up to the third floor of my sorority house, and on the last trip i made the declaration that things were going to take a turn for the better. it was my first time starting a new school year as a single girl, and after ending my little summer fling, i was fully detached from anyone. released from the shackles, if you will.

that’s not to say i was relinquished from anxiety. oh no! the first few nights, i woke up around 3am and had to scroll on Pinterest for an hour or two until i could fall back asleep. as with every new beginning, i stressed. my new roommate would be moving in soon, and i felt like i was starting over from freshman year. you have to remember that i was coming off of a semester where i had two twin XLs pushed together in a corner room where i couldn’t really bother anyone if i tried. i stressed about going back to in-person classes, i stressed about being over involved, i stressed about whatever and whoever.

it took me a hot minute to shake the weird mood that seemed to follow me all the way down highway 231. all i choose to remember from august to mid-september is an incident with some mulch at Sigma Chi and getting a major reality check in my geoscience class. (if you saw me carrying a box of rocks all over campus for like 2 weeks…no you didn’t) i spent a lot of this time getting two weeks ahead in my classes so i could fully enjoy NYC. i distinctly remember coming out of my “funk” from the summer on my morning pilgrimage to Starbucks. what triggered this? an obese beagle straining at his leash to greet me on the sidewalk. just don’t ask.

anyways.

this year, my birthday fell on a saturday. naturally, i booked a flight to New York City so i could turn 21 in manhattan. i had written in my “20” journal that i was going to turn 21 in new york. i’m not much, but i AM a woman of her word! while i had visions of spending my birthday alone on the streets of Manhattan, my mom was shitting her pants at the thought. in hindsight, i don’t blame her. so she tagged along and we made it a cutesy mother-daughter weekend trip. my first legal drink was an overpriced cocktail in a high-rise rooftop bar at midnight, and i went back to my hotel room where my mom surprised me with a bottle of oliver wine. like mother, like daughter! on september 19, i floundered around The Met in awe, and nearly cried too many times than i care to admit. i laid in sheep’s meadow in central park and people-watched before going to a bar. i was in bed by 10 o’clock on my 21st birthday, but i did the thing. i hate saying i love my birthday because i feel like you’re not supposed to like your birthday for some reason. “XIX” isn’t shoddily tattooed on my forearm for nothing, though!

honestly, the semester up until i went to New York was a blur because i was fully just going through the motions. i was so ready to be far away from Greencastle and the confines of the DePauw bubble that the day-to-day monotony didn’t even register in my head. i wanted out so so so badly and i think that’s okay, looking back.

i’d love to sit here and tell you that escaping small town life to the Big Apple triggered some huge revelation that made me turn my mindset around. but i’d be a big fat liar. don’t get me wrong, i had a great time and i’m so grateful that i got to spend that time with my mom. i did have the realization that i seem to always have when i escape DePauw, even if just to Indy, and that’s that there’s more to the world, more to life, than whatever the hell happens on campus.

“Well, yeah, no shit Mackenzie.”

i know. but i think that it is so easy to get wrapped up in it all. i was living from weekend to weekend, surviving the weekdays just to get by. a Weekend Warrior if you will. i felt like i’d done everything and checked all the boxes, even as a junior.

i love DePauw, and i’m so grateful to have the opportunity to get my degree. but sometimes, it feels like high school in the sense that you see so many people you know on the daily. i can’t walk across campus without seeing at least five people i know. there’s cliques and popularity and stereotypes whether you play into it or not. DePauw is too small sometimes, and that’s something that i really had to face this semester. i daydreamed about what it would be like to go somewhere where no one knew me, as cliché as it sounds.

i’d love to tell you that i came back from New York and didn’t find myself musing aloud to my best friend, “what the hell am i even doing here?” but i actually think i asked him and myself that question even more. i had caught a sliver of something new and something different, and coming back to my familiar lifestyle was not appealing at all. i still wanted out, maybe more than ever.

i think fall break is when this stir-crazy feeling reached a fever pitch. going back and forth from one small town for school and my small hometown offered no relief from this feeling whatsoever. i really spiraled when i ran into an ex-situationship at the gym (i have the worst luck in these scenarios, ask my friends). as my stepmom drove me to get coffee, i spun my wheels in the passenger seat and confided these feelings of “stuckness” to her.

“Leah, i’m losing my mind here and i don’t know what to do about it! i feel like i’m just stuck in this cycle of nothingness and i don’t know what to do to get out of it. i feel so…bored. THAT’S WHAT THE PROBLEM IS–I’M JUST BORED!”

you probably reached that conclusion before i did.

here’s the thing, though. it’s not like i was bored in a little kid way where you’ve already played with your barbies, performed surgery on a few hapless earthworms, and now you’ve resorted to telling your mom that you’re bored only to hear her say “well, i’ll give you something to do!”

no, not like that. i had plenty to keep me occupied. i was working two part-time jobs and balancing extracurriculars (& my sanity). bored on a larger scale.

i’ve figured out that my key to life is to have something to look forward to, no matter how small. i’m a pro at really scrounging for anything to look forward to. it’s both a blessing and a curse. in the timeline described above, i was living from big thing to big thing which was necessary for the headspace i was experiencing. when the excitement of a new semester wore off, i looked to NYC to serve as an anchor. over fall break, my anchor was a spontaneous Chicago trip with my best friend.

one of my hot takes is that Chicago and Indianapolis are some sort of Midwestern liminal space. literally in the sense that they’re like portals to the rest of the country. figuratively in the sense that i always seem to come back from one of these cities feeling a little differently than when i went. liminal space is one of my favorite topics to talk about.

i could go on and on about this random Chicago trip in which i froze my little tushy off, but i won’t. i’ll save it for another time. all you need to know right now is that i was grotesquely unsettled for some reason and i tried several times explaining this to my friend who is so used to my ramblings by this time that i don’t think he thought much of it. Chicago was exactly what i needed, i just didn’t know it at the time. as we drove home in the rain, with the heat on full blast and Hozier playing softly, i felt whole. there are few things that i love more than having an all-around great day in the city with my best friend.

i had bought a book in a bookstore we’d stumbled into in an attempt to thaw our hands in the warmth which says a lot because i never buy books. i always just wait to go to the local library, but this time it couldn’t wait. i shelled out four hours worth of work at my part-time job for Matthew McConaughey’s book Greenlights and now I think it’s my new favorite book. i finished it in a day, and I swear that it was my turning point. my main takeaway from the book was to prioritize fun.

so that’s what i did. i added, “what the hell are you doing if you’re not having fun???” to my vernacular and i ran with it. anything that wasn’t a whole lotta fun by default (exams, meetings), i made fun. by doing what, you ask? by giving myself something to look forward to. i remember explaining to my mom how i had planned to get dinner with a friend that was transferring after this semester and i called it a celebration. she said, “oh, right. a celebration because he’s transferring?”

“well yeah i guess, but i’m celebrating the fact that i finished my exam…” she laughed, thank goodness. anything is a celebration if you make it one.

anything that went wrong after my “come-to-Jesus” moment was just good for the plot. the fun wasn’t all my doing though. i have to give my roommate some credit. together, we indulge each other and drag all our friends into our ideas. from making something out of nothing at my favorite frat to designating a random Wednesday as our shower party day, we made it work and we kept it interesting.

i applied the logic of “greenlights” to my misfortunes of the semester. study abroad got cancelled?? greenlight: defer it, spend your last semester causing trouble with your roommate, celebrate most of your friends’ 21st birthdays, hopefully experience your first Little 5. the list goes on.

i feel like that was a lot of build-up for me just to say that i had fun. there’s no secret, though. ain’t nothin’ to it. i hate saying it’s a mindset thing, but it is. but i also know that you can’t really just flip that switch even if you try your hardest. for me, it took an odd day in the middle of Chicago to change my ways.

here’s something i’ll leave you with: you can’t have fun if your work’s not done. say it with me now, work hard play harder! much to my parents’ surprise, i indeed did still go to class and i’ll still be on the Dean’s List. how’s the saying go? “find you a girl who can do both”?!

so that’s it! a long-winded recap of my semester that i could never replicate in a ten-slide carousel on Instagram.

here’s to a semester of countless $5 iced coffees, a few new friends, two Kermits, and one too many splintered tables.

here’s the playlist that got me through the semester

scrapbook

see you soon!

& i love you ❤

Mackenzie 🙂

my moxie is gone and i want her back.

she’s grown legs and run off.

i’ve lost her and she is nowhere to be found.

Dictionary.com defines moxie as a slang term meaning “courageous spirit and determination; perseverance: The pitcher showed his moxie in Sunday’s win. vigor; verve; pep.”

“Well…where’d you have it last?”

alright Wise Guy, cut the shit!

like the typical answer to that question, i don’t remember when i last laid eyes on my moxie. i think i’ve caught a few glimpses of her here and there, but she always evades my grasp.

i’m someone who survives and thrives with her moxie by her side. with my moxie stationed in her sidecar and me on my motorized stallion, matching scarves billowing in the wind, we are an unstoppable pair on the journey through life. with my moxie derailed and lost in a ditch along the highway, i am simply surviving. which i’m glad to be doing regardless!

my moxie is what fuels my wit, my one liners that blurt out of my mouth before i even have time to contemplate whether i should say it or not. my moxie takes me by the hand and leads me to the cute person that i’ve seen around but never talked to and pushes the thoughts of self-doubt away. she bellows “WHATS THERE NOT TO LIKE?! ARE YA KIDDING ME!!!” in the face of weary Insecurity. my moxie inspires me to make change and make things and tells me that i should rearrange my room at midnight because the bed just would undoubtedly look better in the corner.

my moxie convinces me that i have the hustle and the experience to create the life i’ve dreamed of since high school when i was daydreaming in the middle of personal finance class as Dave Ramsey droned on about mutual fund investments. she whispers sweet nothings in my ear when i stay up late partaking in countless google searches for any opportunity to get me the heck outta dodge as soon as possible.

my moxie drags me back to my love affair with the mindset that life is one big game, and the player with the best stories (and the best retellings of those stories), most loved ones, and the highest amount of laughs that make you smack the table and double over with your hand on your chest because you can’t breathe is the true winner.

i’ve been chasing my moxie for a while now, only catching a quick glance of her backside as i come around the corner of a Mood. normally, i do love the chase. just ask all the boys i’ve ghosted! i’m joking! (am i?) but my moxie has shapeshifted into Usain Bolt and i’m tired of running sprint repeats. i feel like flopping on the high jump mat and calling it a day.

maybe my moxie has just been subbed out for the Antimoxie: burnout. sometimes, even the strongest smudging and holy water can’t ward off the inevitable visit of the Antimoxie. nonetheless, i’ll invite the Antimoxie into my house and offer her something to drink. “Water? A cup of coffee, heavy on the sweet cream creamer? No? Oh okay. Well suit yourself!” i’ll say. we’ll sit side by side at the kitchen island and she’ll tell me things i don’t want to hear and force me to reevaluate my life’s priorities.

until we speak again, i’ll continue to bury my nose in my “things to look forward to” list in my notes app and keep on keepin’ on. maybe i won’t find my moxie on a dance floor past midnight, but i’ll have fun tryin’!

in summation, my moxie is my lifeblood, my quintessential zest for life. the question stands: can i find the old moxie again or can i take the gamble and create a new moxie from scratch?

mack

it’s hard not to have one nowadays. my grandma has snapchat and even my cousin’s dog has an instagram account.

everyone talks about how too much social media is bad for your mental health, which it is, and how dangerous, no-good people are lurking in the shadows of cyberspace, which they are.

but i’m not here to preach about that.

i just want to talk about MY online presence and MY experiences. (because it’s all about me on this corner of the Web!!!)

if my dad were to read this, i can already hear his sweet voice crowing “THEN JUST DELETE IT!!!” yes, thank you Captain Obvious, but times are different from when you walked uphill both ways to school in seven foot snow drifts.

to get to the jist of it: lately, i have been experiencing a lot of discomfort towards my online presence altogether. which is a reason that i haven’t been posting blogs as frequently as i have in the past.

personally, i hate instagram. it’s part of my little social media routine of course, you know i scroll a bit, double tap on a perfectly curated photo of one of my favorite influencers, watch a few friends’ stories. you know how it goes. and occasionally, i’ll post here and there. but not until i’ve poured over my post and nitpicked everything, ultimately deciding against sharing it with the world. and then i come back the next day and gear up to post my silly little instagram post and the cycle repeats. and i get anxiety about how people will react to my silly little instagram post, even though i will never really know, (which is such a stupid thing i can’t even believe i’m talking about it). and the likes flood in and the cute comments from my friends trickle in and the dopamine receptors in my noggin start to go brazy! then, after i stop getting notifications from my post, instagram becomes the same thing. full of ads and photoshopped photos and false information.

the reason i keep instagram is simple: it’s where everyone is. it’s how i keep in touch with so many people which of course is both good and bad. like you know those people i played volleyball with for one season and we got along, but we never actually hang out. or the people from school that i know via a friend of a friend, yeah i get to see their little fourth of july pics. sometimes that gets old and i don’t care anymore. so i go onto my little burner account and post whatever i want and i don’t think twice really. i only have like 50 followers which keeps it low stress. i only follow people on there that i actually care about so i don’t see all the other rubbish on my feed. i love it. my burner account keeps the ‘gram fun and flirty for me.

my favorite social media is twitter. by FAR. some will argue that twitter is one of the most toxic apps, but i disagree. i understand how it could be toxic if you have a huge account, people love to cause arguments in threads over the dumbest things. the smallest nuances can be misinterpreted and before you know it, you’re viral and being trolled in thousands of threads. it’s a scary thing, and it’s always in the back of my mind. but for me, it’s a way i can engage in the whole social media world without all the drama from instagram. twitter isn’t driven by visuals, it’s driven by text. clearly as a *writer* it caters to me in a way. the downside to twitter is that it’s almost like an insight to my thoughts and my life and into others’ thoughts and lives. in a way, it’s less privacy. i love twitter because i think it allows me to show my personality but it also gives an inside look into my thoughts + feelings. for example, people tend to “like” or “retweet” things that resonate with them especially in the current moment. so if you go through my likes and see a whole bunch of sad quotes or something, you’re gonna know that i’m in a sad mood. or if you see a bunch of tweets about boys, you’ll know i’m involved with someone. and i don’t like that! i don’t like people knowing my business like that if they don’t have access to me anymore. i know it’s not an uncommon thing, but i’ve had exes confess that they and their friends would like analyze my tweets to see if i was referencing them. or they’d read my blogs if we weren’t on speaking terms. obviously people are going to do that, but it’s weird for me to think about. to me, it’s like well why do you still get to know what i’m up to if you aren’t in my life??? well babe, that’s the point of an online presence!! “then switch your account to private, DUH!!!” yeah, i know okay but i just don’t want to do that for some reason. i’ll just stay in this uncomfortable space.

like twitter, my blog is obviously a highway into my mind at any given time. i love this platform i’ve built for myself even if it needs a lot of overhaul. but it also gives me a lot of anxiety sometimes. the act of writing is so vulnerable because there’s a chance someone could see it and read it which is the whole point of my blog. it’s just so weird to me that when you read something that someone wrote, even if it’s not a particularly sappy subject, it’s still vulnerable because you’re literally consuming thoughts that someone had. does that make sense??? instead of showing you pictures of myself, i’m showing you the most vulnerable part of myself!!! and it gets uncomfortable at times. even writing this, i feel uncomfortable because i think well what if none of this makes sense and people will think i’m just dumb and explaining the obvious.

i’ve noticed a shift in how i regard this platform since i started it in high school. it started as just an outlet for me to mess around and get a feel for posting whatever the hell i wanted to write about. that’s all it was, i wrote about things that mattered to me at the time like my senior jeans that i painted. back then, the only people that read those blogs were my close family and maybe a few people from my close-knit community who knew me. nothing escaped the bubble.

now that i’m in college, i don’t have a grip on who reads this stuff. depauw is a whole new community. i mean, i don’t have a huge following or anything, not even close. honestly, i’m kinda in the dark on how many people i’m actually reaching. but it’s enough that people i’ve never met before tell me they read the blogs. and I LOVE IT, it makes me so so happy to know that people tap my link and read my thoughts or care what i have to say. especially when people that i have a lot of respect for say that they’re “fans” of the blog, it makes my day!

actually, it spans beyond just my peers reading this stuff. as with other social media, employers look into this stuff. personally, i don’t believe that someone’s social media should be a basis of employment or anything unless that it is a part of the job description. for example, i worked as a social media assistant for the depauw marketing team this past year and of course, my boss looked into my social media and my blog. that makes sense. but now, i have a little concern for the future. when i started the blog, i never intended for it to be part of my portfolio for job applications. it was just a way for me to dip my toes into the water and to have fun with writing again because i was bored and uninspired writing essay after essay in school. now, i have to be cognizant that my future employer will probably be looking into this. (i mean when i get a job in my intended field, which right now as an english major is publishing/editing). don’t get me wrong, i love my blog but i’m aware that it’s not exactly “professional.” and it isn’t supposed to be professional! it’s supposed to be a creative outlet where i don’t have to worry about formality! it’s supposed to be fun. but once i think about all this stuff, it isn’t much fun anymore.

having this platform is kinda like a double edged sword. i have the opportunity to voice my opinions/thoughts/feelings and express myself freely. i get to write what i want (for the most part) with the possibility of it resonating with someone else and building a little community. on the other hand, i open myself to criticism and judgment. i can’t control who consumes my writing. imagine a stranger reading about one of the most vulnerable parts of your life and having that information. what about the people who actually know you? sometimes, i muse about how someone has this information about me during a conversation with them. i have actually had moments where people ask me how i’m really doing because they read my blog about how i was going through a little bump in the road and i couldn’t play it off because they already read it! uncomfy!

what is most concerning to me is that my vulnerabilities will be used against me in some way. it’s like giving someone the ammunition to shoot you down.

there are things that i want to write about SO BADLY because i think that it would resonate with a LOT of people and you know, i think i have some good wisdom to share. but i haven’t quite figured out how to do that. i’ve gotten very weird about writing about other people because in certain situations, i don’t want that person to know i’m referring to them or even i don’t want other people to know who i’m talking about if that makes sense. for example, i’ve wanted to write about navigating the dating world in this day and age but the thought of people reading it and knowing who i’m referring to makes me uncomfy. i know what you’re thinking. “Ummm didn’t you write a detailed post about your breakup last year?” and the answer to that is a simple yes. i want to die laughing when i think about it because i don’t know why someone didn’t stop me from putting that online for hundreds of people to know the tea. you live and you learn, but this is what i’m talking about. there’s no way to get around that and it’s weird because on one hand, it’s my experience to share. but it’s also a shared experience and how do you get consent to publicly discuss it if you don’t even talk to the person anymore?

anyways, i know that i probably provided myself a lot of solutions to my issues outlined in this blog. but i often times refuse to take my own advice.

XO

Mack

As I hoist my scrawny six year old nephew onto my lap, sopping swimtrucks and all, my mom gives me a knowing look and says, “You better be careful. I think you’re starting to like kids.”

And she’s right. I am starting to like kids. Not that I was ever against kids… Eh, maybe a little. But I couldn’t ever really be against kids because I grew up with them. I think the people that say they hate kids are the ones that have never really been around them. The most they’ve been around children is a second cousin at Thanksgiving dinner as they’re blowing snot bubbles into the cranberry sauce. So it makes sense that their outlook of children would be bleak.

But not me! Well not anymore as of recently. Don’t get me wrong, throwing myself into a ball pit of children would be akin to throwing myself to the wolves. I’d be overwhelmed and the worst would be brought out in me. Maybe it’s because they’re older or because I’m older or both (probably both), but I thoroughly enjoy being in the company of children. (Noted: referring specifically to the children in my life) They are such cool little creations.

I was the baby of the entire family until my older sister squeezed out the first cool little creation on August 17, 2006. The little guy and I grew up together and it was like having the little sibling I always dreamed of. I mean, he drove me nuts a few years later, always throwing tantrums and wanting every single thing I had. Annoying as all get out. But still, I secretly loved having him around, especially as a baby because I’d never been around one.

Since then, my life has been blessed with four more kids. My dad remarried and I gained a younger brother and eventually a younger sister. Add in the mix a niece and another nephew to bring us up to speed. And I LOVE THEM. I adore every single one of them so much. Even when they bicker over who gets the window seat on the airplane or when a young one won’t stop making an obnoxious noise and an older one seethes.

Since we all live within 50 yards of each other on the block where my older sister and I grew up, there’s basically no shortage of children (and young adults, I should say). Ever. But I’m not complaining!

For the longest time, I treated kids like a chore and an annoyance. Not that I was explicitly mean or hateful really. I just had a short temper and my dad’s impatience. I didn’t know how to diffuse temper tantrums or really even interact well with the kids. And I’m still not like Mother Teresa or anything by any means. But my attitude has shifted.

I remember one particular instance over winter break. My youngest nephew, Jackson, is a hotheaded little shit, alright. My sister had run to the store just up the street to pick something up and left me in charge. Well, within the ten minutes she was gone, Jackson and I found ourselves in a screaming match because he wouldn’t listen to me and I didn’t know how to make him listen. I tried employing the “look” my mom would give me that sent shivers up my spine and let me know that I was teetering on “being in some big trouble, miss.” Time out didn’t work. Employing all the “gentle parenting tips” I saw on TikTok didn’t work. Yelling didn’t work because he just yelled back and told me I was the WORST BABYSITTER EVER. I told my sister I’d never babysit again.

Last week, I volunteered my best friend and I to babysit while on family vacation. And we had A BLAST! We showed my niece how to boogie board and Jackson practiced swimming, all the while ensuring routine sunscreen application. And I didn’t find myself constantly checking my phone, wondering when my sister would return to take her heathens back or asking “Again?!!” when Jackson wanted me to catch him in the pool.

So what changed? Obviously, all the kids and I are both older which helps things a lot. And for most of the year, I don’t live at home anymore. I’m not around them as much. Absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever. Sounds cheesy, but I soak in every moment I have with them because I do miss them when I’m at school.

I also realized that I avoided developing like “real” relationships with the kids because I worried so much about how I would negatively affect them. Something that I realize that I think others fail to (just tooting my own observational horn here) is how impressionable kids are! And not even in the sense that you know you can’t drop an f bomb for fear of little Susie repeating it at school and having it reflect on your parenting style. Yeah, maybe watch what you say around Susie for sure but it goes way deeper than that.

By reflecting on my own childhood, I realize how impressionable I was and how certain things kinda stuck with me. I think you’re almost forced to reflect on your childhood when spending a lot of time with kids. Kids are a product of their environment. They know that you don’t want to be included in photos because you think you look fat, but they just know that you’re the best person to hold them as they nap. They subconsciously absorb your negative body image. You telling them not to cry when they’re clearly distressed over something teaches them to invalidate their own feelings. They don’t know how to regulate their emotions and they won’t know if you don’t teach them. I didn’t know how my actions or words would affect them so I was hesitant.

The narrative switched when I realized it goes both ways. Yeah, you can be an irrelevant piece or even a dark cloud in a kid’s life. Or, you can be a light and a mentor. And I’ve chosen the latter. I’m trying to make the conscious decision to make my interactions as positive as possible and to do my part in their lives. It takes a village to raise kids and I take my tiny role in stride! I see my interactions with kids as opportunities to teach and offer different perspectives. We’re raising feminists if I have anything to do with it.

Being around kids has helped me heal my inner child and has helped me realize how to impact kids so they don’t have to heal their inner child in the same way I do. Be who you needed when you were younger.

In a way, I can relive my childhood with a spin. For example, my younger sister is growing up in a stable, two parent home which is something I never experienced. I am so happy that she has this experience, and obviously I’m happy that I am a part of this home too! But sometimes, I find myself feeling jealous because I wish that was me. It’s not a nasty jealousy, never, it’s just a sense of mourning for what could have been. I didn’t have a bad childhood or anything, but growing up in a so-called broken I don’t wish my life to be any different, but living vicariously through my younger sister’s childhood has almost given me a glance into my childhood.

That being said, I have found it difficult to establish a boundary for myself to not be absorbed in the kids’ childhood trauma. Everyone has it one way or another. That’s not my job to analyze how my family dynamic will impact them in adolescence, and yet I catch myself doing so anyways. It’s a learning curve.

Obviously, my positionality as a young aunt and an older sister allows me to take on this perspective. The responsibility of keeping these kids alive doesn’t directly fall to me. Unlike a parent/guardian, I don’t have to spend time with kids if I’m not feeling up for it. I’m just there as a built-in babysitter if I happen to be home and my dad needs to run some errands. So I don’t deal with the day to day shitfits and attitudes, disciplinary actions, and general worry about my child’s life. I’m not preoccupied with a marriage, a house, a career, hobbies, bills, health, and multiple kids on top of everything. I get the good without the bad in a way. My job is to bring the party!

I’m encouraging you to shift your perspective on kids, whether your own or even the neighbor kids who scare the bejesus out of you over the PA system in their dads police car (AKA my younger sister). They’re so cool with their little developing neural pathways and their silly comments. They do in fact say the darndest things (“Your butt STINKS”- Jackson to my poor mother in the midst of the Dollar General aisle). They’re pure and innocent even if they have bad attitudes and tantrums sometimes. I think sometimes people forget that children are their own person with thoughts and feelings and it’s important not to belittle those things even if they don’t seem monumental to you. To them, these things are their whole life, duh! It’s easy to write-off a 14 year old heartbreak as inconsequential and dumb, but it’s the end of the world to them. They won’t ever be as young as they are now.

Love them like you would love your younger self.

You & I will never be those kids again.

Z