KNOWLEDGE KILLS

The universe is devious in her timing as she runs the game of balance we call life. Two steps forward, three steps back. Abundance pursued by scarcity. Hunger + motivation extinguished by exhaustion + every obstacle possible. Smiling so hard your cheeks hurt — crying so hard your ribs ache. She’ll stop you entirely in your tracks to tease you with everything you’ve asked her for, then tell you you’re not actually ready for it yet. It could be so simple, but what thrill would that be?

That’s the thing about this game called life. If we always knew the plans, what would lead to where, had the answers. If you could watch your entire life, birth to death, like a movie — would you? The thought of knowing isn’t as comforting as I like to theorize it would be. To know is to kill the hopes, dreams, fantasies, imagination. The desire. The chase. Like knowing the ending to a book where the main character dies and the charmer is the one who killed her. You’d never get attached to the main character nor would you allow yourself to be charmed — you already know what’s going to happen. Save yourself the rollercoaster + disappointment, but deprive yourself of the connection + emotion you could have felt had the ending not be spoiled. 

That’s where the beautiful parts lie — the space between the body + the mind. The crevasse between what is + what could be. The unknown. Anxiety? Or fear that the true outcome won’t be what you hope for it to be as you zone out under the deceptive impression that you don’t know what you want — lying to yourself that you’re open to her plans. Even if you’re not ready for the darkness, light cannot be present without it. To fall low implies you were once high. To have a heart broken into pieces alludes it was embraced in the tightest, warmest hug prior to. A full belly as you say “I’m going on a juice cleanse for a week” comes after the best meal you’ve had in a long time. So good you couldn’t stop. “I’m never going out again” as you debrief the most fun you’ve had in months, scrambling the pieces together into a pathetic excuse for a memory. I hate cooking because the kitchen gets dirty, but how lucky am I to have a kitchen that gets dirty. I hate interrupted sleep, but how lucky am I to have a little person who needs only me to be at peace. I’m SPENT at the end of my days, but how lucky am I to have a job — one I am so passionate about + have life changing relationships because of. I hate when my gas light comes on when I’m 10 minutes late with $23.76 in my bank account — but how lucky am I to have a car that needs gas. Here’s the big one, the meat — what you’re waiting for me to get to. I hate falling in love because what happens when it’s over? If I didn’t dive off the cliff in the first place, I wouldn’t have to climb back up — only to probably dive off again. 

Damage control. Obsessed with control. Don’t ask for the good + rely on that to avoid the bad. But maybe the bad isn’t so bad. What if the bad is purely an absence of the good. Empty, passionless, predictable. Creativity is meant to flow like a watercolor brush across paper. The heart is meant to love like the sun is meant to rise every morning. Created for relationships — it’s what fills our cup. Keeps us going. Go ahead, avoid it so nothing bad will happen, then lie awake at night, wondering what the empty cavity in your chest is causing you to long for. Love is like fire — it’s powerful, warming, hypnotizing; but it can burn. More than any curling iron or frying pan you’ve touched before. Oddly enough, it’s a burn you can always recover from, even when you have yourself set that’ll never happen. What’s worse — the burn? Or the realization that you fell in love with a fantasy that wasn’t so real after all? 

But I’ve always believed love — real, genuine, divine, unwavering love — will always find its way. It’s written in the stars. The storyline isn’t how you would’ve written it, but what if it’s better how she wrote it? If I was offered the opportunity to watch my movie + learn the answer, I’d courteously decline. What will I do if the movie goes on without you? I prefer to live with the small fire of hope, in the space between what is + what could be. Sure, maybe another life — past or future. But I’m in this one, + so are you. What are the odds? I’ll keep writing + you do the same. But don’t be confused when two oceans meet and never mix — merely exist in respect to the other’s power + space; but never seperate. Oil + water. Fire + ice. Positive + negative. You + me? The space between the body + the mind — but will we ever exist outside of that abyss? I’ll savor this hope as the last sip of Cabernet Sauvignon in my glass. I’ll only sip it if you come back to offer me a refill — until then, I’ll swirl it around, counting the drips down the side, as I savor the sweetest smell I’ve ever known. 

THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

Change (verb) to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone. 

I am a big believer in the “butterfly effect”. The notion that the universe is so deeply interconnected, such that one small occurrence can influence a much larger complex system. The feeling of hope that things really do happen for a bigger reason and maybe we’re not just purposelessly inhabiting a rock floating in space. Brought here with a purpose, each and every one of us is crucial in the system of what we call the day to day. Under the same sky, written in the same stars, warmed by the same sun, feeling the same moon. The journey of self discovery and restlessly searching to find where exactly you fit in said system is a universal experience, yet we still insist on the notion that “no one gets it”. 

Like many little girls, I always wanted to be a mommy. Baby Alive came everywhere with me for a greater part of my childhood. Swaddled in my baby blankets and placed in her stroller — to the store we went. Dinners. Just about everywhere. Always fed and with a clean diaper, too. I was a mother to that chunk of plastic, responding to her scheduled cries and big blinking eyes. But I grew up. She stayed home when I left and there was a day that I played with her for the last time before she ended up in storage because I was too cool for dolls now. I loved children but my desire to truly have them dwindled. They became bothersome and needy to me and a cry was plain annoying. I settled that maybe I was better fit to just be the cool, rich aunt to my friend’s kids. Say yes to things mom was a no on and give them back. No work, all play. Continuing to grow up and seeing the state of the world really drove my “no kids” point home. It’s different than when I was a kid and that wasn’t too long ago. I rode bikes around the neighborhood with my friends and played in the front yard for hours. There’s always been evil in the world, but it seemed to be significantly safer just that short amount of time ago. Bringing a life into a world of such danger absolutely horrified me. 

The butterfly effect. One small occurrence changing the outcome of everything. Altering a timeline. Car accidents half a second away from fatality, but you didn’t leave one second earlier because you had one more person to say bye to. What if you left one minute later and missed that moment in time completely? Meeting my first friend in preschool. Living in Tucson, Arizona. Losing loved ones. Agreeing to plans instead of staying in. Every decision I’ve made has brought me to this very second in my timeline and this second, too, will cause another outcome someday. Makes you feel a lot of pressure, huh?

The fact of the matter is — I was always meant to be a mother. Those wings of the butterfly flapped long before I decided I’d be better off as the cool, rich aunt. She is needy, and I love being exactly what she needs. Her cries aren’t annoying, they’re her communication that she needs me for something — everything. The world is a scary place, but she was given to me for a reason. I’m the perfect person to teach, guide and protect her. I was made for her, her for me. And now that I’m here, in this moment, writing in bed after putting my baby down for the night, it all makes sense. It’s clearer than ever before — my purpose on this planet. Her mommy. There was a me before her, but there was never a her before me. My life began long before her, but the rhythm of her heartbeat changed the way I danced. She changed me; made my nature different from what it would be if I were just left alone. I shook off branches from my tree and replaced them with stronger ones. I’ve given until I’m breathless, and then given more. I’ve looked in the mirror of my daughter and both smiled and cried. I get it now — the love that your mom tells you you’ll never fathom until you’re in her shoes. I’m in her shoes, and they fit quite nicely. The feeling of being someone’s sun, moon and stars. A mother’s love. Growing everyday, both of us. Me mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Her in the number of rolls on her legs and onesies fitting more snug by the minute. 

Change — the shifting of the familiar. She shifted everything I’ve ever thought to be true. She flapped her wings and flipped my world upside down. And I don’t ever want it to be right side up again. I’ll be a lot of things in this life. Friend. Student. Red wine drinker and dark chocolate lover. Apprentice. Leader. Chicken fingers and fries advocate. MUA. Tito’s Soda orderer. Dog whisperer. Obsessive hugger. Impulsive kisser. Ugly laugher. Clothing obsessed. Gold jewelry wearer. Taylor Swift hater. (sorry cry about it idc). Crier for a good romance movie. Overthinker. Perfectionist. I am a lot of things. I will be a lot of things. I’m not certain about much, but I can promise you a mother is my favorite thing to be. 

DON’T BLINK

The childhood friend you never thought you’d go a day in your life without seeing, only to just hear from her on your birthday — if you’re lucky. Don’t blink. The shoes your mom bought a size too big so you could grow into them; in the donation pile because you couldn’t possibly squeeze your growing foot into them. Don’t blink. One day, you rode your bike around the neighborhood with your friends for the last time and took a razor scooter to the ankle for the last time. Don’t blink. 1st grade turned to middle school, shedding tears every single year in between over the same bully only to become friends with her in high school and talk everyday. Who’d think she’d be married before me? She deserves it, her heart needed love. Brandy Melville T-Shirt dresses and low rise Hollister jean shorts now nowhere to be found. That one Triangl bikini and Victoria’s Secret discontinuing swimwear, causing a worldwide panic among teenage girls, only to bring it back. Summer ‘16. Meeting your best friend for the first time. High school is forever long, we’ll never have our licenses. We just graduated and got into a nearly fatal car accident driving home from a party, but the angels were on duty as always. Don’t blink. Your first love you never thought you’d know a life without turned first heartbreak you never thought you’d heal from. You mended your heart and hung onto the sweet memories, shared songs and inside jokes that you now laugh alone at. Loved again. Lost again. Don’t blink. The dreaded weekly phone calls with grandma because they “inconvenienced” your day. Now you listen to the voicemails you just happened to save to hear the love in her voice again. Drove daddy home for the last time, unknowingly. You have his voicemails but you don’t have his words of wisdom, hugs or laughs. He’ll never hold your baby or give you away if you get married. Don’t blink. Lost sight of your dreams and passions, found them. You’re in your earliest of 20’s while your friends plan their next trip and you await the next cry to be needed by your baby. The newborn clothes she swam in for months, draped over the side of the crib to be put away in storage — she’s outgrown them. The newborn diapers you so relentlessly used the last of and never repurchased. Took a photo, even, to remember just. how. tiny. Don’t blink. 

It’s fast, this life we live. Some moments feel longer than others — time is subjective. I scroll through my camera roll, watching the evolution of every version of myself, year to year. I see a pure, innocent little girl who hasn’t been told her nose is too big for her face. I see a 2010’s icon, probably XX Pro or Valencia instagram filter. And the galaxy leggings? I’m sorry, but they were a moment. I see a middle schooler, trying to figure herself out. A high schooler who was too cool for her own good. A sorority girl out of touch with any sort of reality. A girl with a light in her eyes and a fire in her soul before this world, false friends and the wrong boys shattered her over and over again. I see numb. I see grief and a heart broken by death. I see healing and acceptance. I see light, dark, everything in between — and I’m not just talking about my hair. And most recently, my camera roll full of baby pictures. Because I refuse to believe that she looks like a brand new person every week. I hold onto every version of her and welcome the change everyday.

I can understand now, why adults always would say “time flies”. What is time, even? The big and little hands on a watch. The teller of whether to angrily rush, not allowing any memories to form, or move in slow motion, using every sense to captivate the moment. And at the end of the day, it isn’t real. Just one more thing we’ve created to trip ourselves. Life is dancing with death to the rhythm of a ticking clock that no one sees. And this clock ticks so. damn. fast. I blinked, and jumped from fifteen to twenty two. There was a time I was so eager to “grow up”, and today, I would do anything to be sixteen, in the car with my best friends, blasting our rap playlist and showing each other that we did in fact study the lyrics and are ready to show that off at the next house party that’s blessed with our presence. 

Whether your eyes are welled up with tears, or watering because you truly just haven’t blinked — dry them. Text your friends back. Make time for the plans you’re putting off. Tell the person that just came to mind that you love them. Who cares if it’s too soon. If you scare them, they’re not the right one. Call your parents. Hug your parents. Please — hug your parents. Walk your dog. Taste new foods and smell the flowers. Share the song to your story you think no one cares about. Take pictures of the sunset, and everything you find beauty in for that matter. Invest in your hobby and practice your craft. Show enthusiasm when you’re excited and cry a river when someone hurts you. Life’s too short for a poker face. Communicate. Laugh. Scream to feel alive. Mix perfumes. Use your good products, stop saving them. They’re going to expire. Eat the cookie, drink the soda. Do shit that makes you happy. But most importantly, no matter what it is you choose to do, don’t blink. 

1/11/24

Lana B — “mom” of most every friend group i’ve belonged to; “mom” for REAL. I’ll give you a second to pick your jaw up off the floor, run to your group chats, call Kris Jenner — whatever it is you need to do. I didn’t go through the archives from the past 365 days + create an album on my phone called “fake it” planning my recent posts to not have a “break the internet” moment. It was easier than you’d think — i’m not Kylie Jenner; no one thought to strategically cross check my nail color, hair length or notice my old iPhone in a mirror selfie instead of my current. swindling instagram is more fun than anything i’ve pulled to date. 

May 20 — 10 minutes before i clock into work. 2 red lines. 1 plastic stick (well, 3 over the course of 24hrs. it’s called denial) oh, + ill be home alone for 48 hours. it’s definitely not the kind of news i’d dare tell my mother over the phone, so i sit alone in my house, pinching myself, looking at the tests every 5 minutes in attempt to grasp any sort of feeling that this was real. every thought against myself running through my mind. i’m too young, i won’t be good at this, what will people think? it was a time to learn to truly believe in the mantra “WHO CARES” + start living life for Alana, doing what sits well with MY soul — what i know to be True. + that truth is that i was made for this. that this was actually the answer to my prayers, just in a way i wasn’t anticipating. in a language i hadn’t yet learned. like always, God knew better than i did what i was asking for when i was crying out to Him, asking that the hole in my heart be healed. filled. snap me back into reality, im tired of going through the motions. + let me tell you, this did just that. 

June 12 — i sit in the doctors office, watching a B&W screen, looking at what seems to be a pulsating blob. i hear my doctor describe to me that blob is in fact a tiny person starting its life inside of me. “gestational sac, yolk sac, heartbeat.” words i thought i’d only hear in anatomy class. confirmation from a medical professional + i still didn’t think this could be real. no shot. but i’ll admit that the happy tears my mom shed that day + the way she continued to hug me from the second i told her was real. so this must be too. 

September 17 — it’s a GIRL! because one Alana isn’t enough for this lifetime. a carbon copy. i needed her. i see myself in the windows of her soul at 3 AM, when the world is asleep + it’s just the two of us. falling in love all over again, every. single. time. i’ll sleep again one day, but these moments are finite — everyday she’s the smallest she’ll ever be again, depending on me the most she ever will. i love being her peace, but what she doesn’t know is she’s equally as much, but probably more so, mine. + ask anyone, i was certain I was having a boy. but life made complete sense once i knew i was able to recreate the most precious love i’ve ever known — my mama’s. from the other end. i have a daughter. 

1/11 — the number of new beginnings, abundance, protection + good fortune; accompanied by a new moon. i have lived 21 1/11’s + considered them merely the day after my birthday. who knew my 22nd one would change my soul for eternity. an empty wound in my heart, searching high + low to fill for years. nothing worked. not until 1:30 pm when i see my daughter through my tear filled eyes. when the world was laid on my chest after the hardest experience i’ve ever had, but i would do a million times over for a love like hers. not until my heart itself was eviscerated — worn now on the outside of my body, to be protected with every fiber of my being while flaunted as my most prized possession. 

“open arms” by SZA puts her out along with the rest of “what love feels like”, a playlist on spotify by yours truly. house makes her eyes big followed by the cutest facial expressions you’ll ever see, + my hardest of both rap + dubstep doesn’t wake her on our car rides. i still swear that the oxytocin rush Zeds Dead gave me in my car jam session on 1/10 is what initiated the beginning of my labor later that day. 

it all makes sense now, every moment of pain + emptiness i’ve endured in this life. every experience that’s shaped me into the woman i am today. every everything. her eye contact heals the depths of my being. she stares into my soul + i into hers; we both see home. + home is where the heart lies. i don’t just want to say that i’d die for you — i’d live for you. every day of this uncertain life, i want to live + be your constant. 

my deepest dream come true — no longer a dream, i wake up to live it. twice through the night + every second of the day. 

G.S.B. | 1/11/24