The Subtle Art of Feeling a Little Lost

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of writing for other people. It’s hard not to feel like my words are going to waste somehow, like there is a finite string of them in my head that is quickly unravelling, spooling on the page, the page that isn’t truly mine. Sure, my name is in the byline most of the time. And I’m compensated for my efforts. But that’s not what it’s really about.

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Post-Holiday Blues

It’s been four days since I got back from Bali, and my mind is just now beginning to normalise. It’s been pretty rough. While I always feel this sense of loss after a trip, I usually spend so long overseas that by the time I come back, I feel a little more ready. This time, the ten day trip was more like a teaser, and the comedown is hard.

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Birthday Blues

I can’t remember being particularly sad about my birthday since I was a young girl. In a classic tale of childhood woe, hardly anyone showed up to one of my birthday parties and it was like the world had ended. It was at an indoor fun park with a ball pit, but even that couldn’t entice the cool kids to come. In the spirit of naivety and untarnished optimism, I was very sad very briefly, then brushed it off and had fun with the few who did show up – though it marked the beginning of my indifference.

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