This House of Love


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The Year of 29

As I round the proverbial bend to 29, I am tempted to do a bit of reflection. My twenties have been filled to the brim with action: college raucousness, my dream job (at the time), betrayal, losing my family to domestic violence, legal battle, travel, fulfilling lifelong dreams, romance, marriage, pregnancy, buying my first home. More than enough action for a lifetime. Or two. But, as I settle into 29, I have to stop and think about what it all means to me. I have to ponder how every heartache and happiness I have endured has led me to where I am today. And then I need to move on.

In the past, I spent the majority of my time attempting to be older, wiser, prettier, more popular. In short, I’ve spent my life desperately trying to be someone and something else. I grew up in L.A., and more specifically Calabasas, a place where image was everything and personality was not. I was persecuted by peers for being different, but the most stifling oppression I faced was being doled out internally. And by starting this blog, I am venturing to come clean and shed my biggest flaw: discontentedness.

As thirty tiptoes closer with each passing day, I know this is the time to work on myself. I am part of a family of three, perhaps one day four, but I am also an individual. An individual who catches herself living in the past, or worrying about the future. This happens so often that, sadly, I find myself missing out on what’s happening right in front of me. A brilliant soul shared a beautiful analogy with me the other day: “If the whole world was to end in one week, would you spend your week worrying about the little time you have left? Or would you revel in it, enjoy it?” I answered immediately, “I would savor every moment!” So she replied, “Then why waste your time worrying about your past or present now?” Touche, old friend, touché.

Thus, my biggest resolution for this new year (both 29 & 2014) is to, as ridiculously cliché as it sounds, live every moment as if it were my last. To immerse myself in the beauty of my daughter’s giggles, my husband’s unending passion for the Los Angeles Kings, valuable conversations with my girlfriends. I hope to shed the anxiety and worry that I present myself when I think about moments other than the ones I am currently living. I also resolve to take time for myself, for my mental and physical well-being.

And in this crazy life of motherhood and wifehood, I find very little time for myself. I haven’t gotten a haircut for a year, my glasses give me headaches because the prescription hasn’t been accurate for months, and one of my toenails is as long as the nail file itself. But a haircut and a pedicure are only surface fixes. The feeling I get as I write is better than any high. In the land of long hair (don’t care!), helpless glasses, and unattractive feet, I know I won’t find time to post weekly. Or maybe even monthly. Nonetheless, I will promise myself to write when I can. Because every wife-mommy-writer-educator, hell… person… needs a healthy outlet. And apparently sharing my thoughts and feelings with the cyber world is the perfect outlet for me.

Lastly, If you have taken the time to read this, I appreciate you greatly. I also want you to know I didn’t start this blog as means for preaching. Nor did I start it for attention. I decided to start this blog simply to commit. I am committing to taking that valuable me-time. I am committing to purging my thoughts in order to feel catharsis. I am also starting it because although some don’t feel the call to write, those same people may feel the call to read. Finally, I am committing myself to a year of introspection, contentedness, and thus, wholeness. And hopefully, this year is only the beginning.