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March 2017


Bye, Ashy!: The Power of Packing Up & Moving On

It’s 3am and your house looks like a mash-up between a crack house, a clubhouse and a like a club was just thrown in your house, free cover charge. Between boxes, tossed supplies, broken hangers, beer bottles, pizza boxes and your cousin sleeping on the blanketed floor because they couldn’t hang anymore, you can’t even begin to find your thoughts. Best guess? It’s probably out with the rest of life left to pack, which you now have less than T-minus five hours complete. Ugh. Crunch time begins.

The sweater you yelled at your greasy step-aunt Margaret was “so cool” twelve years ago only to shove into the deepest depths of your closet? Goodwill it.

The pot you scorched in your first apartment while trying to simmer chicken like Emeril Lagasse only to almost set your stove on fire? Toss it.

The dusty yoga mat that was for sure going to get your sexy back only to be used as a walk pad for your laundry room? Clean. And pass to your yogi friend.

Oh, the framed picture of your ex and you still hidden in your nightstand to occasionally stare at to smile of the traveling times together before you found out they were a

flaming piece of

unsavory child of God

spawn of el Spanish Diablo


–just…..trash it. Actually, keep the frame. It’s cute. And it was also $19.95. We can throw away our ex, but we don’t throw away Jackson’s. The next few hours of picture tossing, cardboard paper cuts, vacuuming and locking up are  a blur until you suddenly find yourself crammed in a sedan full of even more boxes and staring at a UHaul. At this point you’re too tired to care, but you scarf down your McDonald’s platter anyways. Somewhere between a nap, sketchy gas stations and a rocky road that wakes you up in fear that your tires are going to pop only to leave you stranded on Tobacco Rd somewhere to be eaten by those Hills Have Eyes people, you arrive to your destination. It’s smaller in person, but again you’re too tired to care and just want to get unpacked. Upon unboxing your bathroom and seeing all your clothes hung up, suddenly it hits.

I moved. I, the person who was always secretly scared to do anything major, MOVED. Like, moved, moved. It’s more serious when you add that extra word in, right? Right, across the state lines moved. And suddenly, the urge to call your mother or someone else with more sense than you has never felt so urgent. WHY did you let me leave?! Why did you think I was competent enough to pull this off?! Talk about a little fish in a huge pond. The moment you step foot back out the door and find yourself scrambling for Siri’s help, it’s official.

Welcome to the new world.

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They Always Come Back

It happened.

In the great words of someone super classy and probably British, by George, it finally happened. After countless tear stained nights, Cymbalta commercial moments, friends screaming at Tyra Banks volumes you’re better than this, and watching dust collect on that breakup book gifted to you you still haven’t read yet–it happened.

You’re finally over the one that hurt you the most. Even still, hearing the line they immediately never stop coming to mind, do they? And while you’ll never forget, it simply just doesn’t hurt anymore. You’re almost not even sure WHEN exactly it happened, but hot damn, it did. It wasn’t a road traveled you’d wish on most, but it made you slightly more into the strong, fabulous catch standing today.

For that, you couldn’t be happier.

And for the first time in a long, life feels good. Your thoughts are clear, your heart feels light, your skin is popping like Rihanna shorts at a dance festival, work is booming, your weight you dramatically lost during your dark time is back in all the right places, and your love life isn’t that of an episode of My Strange Addiction.

What could possibly could shake this joy?

Well, it usually starts with three syllables:

“Hey stranger”

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