It used to be your cup of tea... but now you want wine

What happens when you discover new interests and leave the old ones behind, still half-finished? It’s a little like ending a relationship—not because you stopped caring...but because it used to be your cup of tea but now you want wine! Nothing wrong with wine! You’ve grown and changed. Evolved. Sometimes, you just have to admit that your stamp-collecting days are over (unless you're into that, in which case, live your best life).

That’s not to say I don’t still enjoy the things I once loved—I do. But life, like me, refuses to stay in one place. Interests shift, habits morph, and suddenly, you’re swapping binge-watching your favorite sitcom for attempting to bake sourdough... badly. But isn’t that what keeps things spicy?

And oh, the thrill of chasing something new without knowing where it’ll lead! Maybe I’ll become a world-famous blogger—or, more realistically, I’ll blog into the void while convincing myself the algorithm is just “warming up.” Either way, that’s the magic of it. It’s not about perfection, it’s about leaning into the messiness of it all—

—because the mess is where the beauty hides. Who wants a spotless, predictable life anyway? It’s in the chaos of new hobbies, fleeting passions, and daring mistakes that we find the stories worth retelling. Like the time I attempted yoga and toppled over mid-warrior pose, only to laugh so hard I scared my cat out of the room. Or that week I convinced myself I could learn the ukulele, despite my complete lack of rhythm or coordination. Spoiler alert: I can now play two and a half chords. Barely.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? To lean into the tumble, to taste the sweetness of trying, and to fall flat on your face—gracefully, of course. I’d rather have a journal filled with scribbles and crossed-out plans than one with blank pages. Logic has its place, but life? Life deserves a bit of delightful absurdity.

Words to live by

The workforce—a carnival we all bought tickets to but didn’t exactly plan on attending. Whether you’re reigning at the top of the corporate food chain or hanging tentatively from the lowest branch, the vibe often feels oddly similar. And yet, here we all are, punching clocks and perfecting our “active listening” faces in meetings like wandering flocks of geese unsure if it's fall or spring.

Now, don’t get me wrong—it’s a little soul-crushing to see employees feeling unappreciated. But, dare I add an unexpected plot twist? It’s just as heart-wrenching when you’re the boss and feel like wallpaper in your own office. Picture this—you hire people, dole out a paycheck, and offer training for jobs that don’t exactly require a Ph.D. You know, positions that mostly rely on common sense and a pulse. Essentially, I deliver two things—experience and a paycheck. Yet, some folks make it clear they’d rather not need either.

Look, I get it—ambition calls, and the grass is always greener on literally any lawn other than the one you're mowing. But here’s the kicker—those of us cutting the payroll checks? We're fully aware that this might not be your “forever job.” Still, it might do a soul some good to occasionally say, “Hey, thanks for helping me keep the lights on while I chase my dreams.” Instead, I hear things like, “Man, I hope I’m not stuck here in two years.” Same, Thelma! Same! I, too, hope my next hire knows how to tell a Phillips head from a flathead screwdriver without a 10-minute staring contest.

Here’s the thing—if the fit isn’t right on my side, I will absolutely make the call and find someone else. Cruel? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. At the end of the day, it’s not personal—it’s just business. You know, the kind of business paying to keep the air-conditioning running both at my office and at the apartment where your plants are thriving.

Here’s my two cents (and that’s after taxes):Take a moment to appreciate the stepping stones beneath your feet. Even if your boss isn’t your favorite Marvel character, remember the paycheck and experience they’re offering. Work is tough, yes—but mutual respect can go a long way. And who knows? Maybe we’ll all make something meaningful out of it yet. Like keeping your first born alive! Or, at the very least, fewer passive-aggressive watercooler comments!

Why do I write? And More Importantly.... Why do you read it?

Writing is my therapy, my guilty pleasure, and sometimes my excuse for dodging chores. There's just something magical about spilling thoughts onto a page—it’s like giving my overly dramatic brain its own stage. I jot down opinions no one asked for, document awkward moments I’ll cringe at later, and craft stories that might make someone laugh (or at least snort).

One day, my kids will probably find my collection of journals, roll their eyes, and dramatically declare, “Why did she write all this?” before chucking them into the trash. But until that day comes, I'll keep writing—because, let's face it, someone has to document this beautiful mess we call life for future generations. I'm basically doing humanity a public service... you're welcome.

 

Oh Girl! You Need To Retake That Course!

In a plot twist that even Hollywood couldn't script, Donald Trump snagged the Presidential Election, and suddenly, I found myself being blamed for it on Facebook Messenger. Yep, a stranger decided my singular vote had magical powers to sway the entire election, despite not knowing who I voted for—or if I even voted at all!

This digital detective, irked by my comment on a mutual friend's post a month ago, seemed to have stored up her outrage and crowned me the ultimate scapegoat. For the record, Trump scooped up 312 Electoral votes and over 74 million popular votes, while yours truly accounted for just one teeny-tiny vote. If that's not a stretch, I don't know what is!

Here's the kicker—this online critic is a certified mental health counselor specializing in Anger Management, touting best practices with empathy, impeccable ethics and boundaries. Yep, you read that right. With all that expertise, I expected a more zen-like approach—or none at all, considering ..... WE DON'T KNOW EACH OTHER! She needs to retake some of her courses!

Pro tip for everyone out there: if you're chewing out someone five states away for exercising the same voting rights you have, it's time for a rethink. For all she knew, I could have been linked to the mob! (For the record, I’m not.) but I've crossed paths with some pretty sketchy characters in my day. She doesn't know my friends!

Oh, and to add an insult to the injury.... she wrote me on the anniversary of my dad's passing to launch her critique—not that I'm one to wallow, but shouldn't mental health counselors be the last people playing "Push the Button"? Pretty sure rule #1 is knowing you never fully know what someone’s going through.

You know that saying, "Don't judge a book by its cover"? Well, underestimating me is like mistaking Beth from Yellowstone for a Sunday school teacher. Bold move. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t end well (iykyk).

Everyone's allowed to have their feelings, but accountability's still a thing, especially when it infringes on someone else's rights and descends into name-calling and family threats. Given her profession, her actions reveal more about her than me, and if I can prevent her from bullying others, it's worth the effort. So I let her company know what kind of counselor was helping their clients. Sometimes people need a nudge to remind them when they're off-track. And if I can prevent this counselor from treating others with such disrespect, then it's a win-win in my book. After all, empathy and accountability should go both ways, no matter who you're interacting with.

Remember, the internet's a two-way street, and while everyone deserves a little grace, it's important to know when to hit the brakes.

Here is my Resignation!

Why is being an adult just “planning committee chair” for everything? I love my friends—really, I do! But making plans with them feels like organizing a tiny wedding every single time. And don’t even get me started on family holidays. Remember when you could just roll up to your mom’s house for Thanksgiving, eat your body weight in mashed potatoes, and call it a day? No grocery shopping. No cleaning. No cooking. Just you, your siblings, your nieces and nephews, and zero responsibility. Now? Hosting family feels like running a bed-and-breakfast with an extra side of chaos. I swear, the larger the family, the more it feels like you’re managing a logistics company. Could someone please invent a time machine just so I can re-live the days when all I had to contribute was showing up?