It feels like every planet imaginable is in retrograde, and I broke a mirror while walking under a ladder with a black cat in front of me. The apartment of my dreams slipped through my fingers, and I don’t know where I’m going to live in a week. While the prices of living in LA constantly make me feel like I need to get a “real” job or sugar daddy ASAP, the stubborn free spirit within screams, “ I LIKE FREEDOM AND BABY FACES!”
As some of you may recall, about six weeks ago I said I was going to change my life. Through meditation, affirmations and self discipline, I was determined to improve myself and my life. Well, so much for that. To be fair, I had many triumphs during that time, especially with insights on my relationships and setting boundaries. However, this last week shit hit the fan and it’s time for changing my life take 2…. Or take 973,694,761.
So, what went wrong? Nothing. Everything is as it should be. Yet, it feels like absolute SHIT. Why? Maybe because comedians love to suffer on the DL? idk. In all seriousness, I feel like a big part of my work in this lifetime is self mastery. The ADHD, depression, anxiety, addictions, and plethora of other goodies my hand was dealt in this lifetime, is really a royal flush.
It’s like getting socks for Christmas from Santa. When you’re a kid you’re like “God damnit why the fuck did Santa go to Costco for these off white socks when I asked for a slutty Bratz Doll??” Then, years later, you get socks and smile while the Bratz doll would have gotten a buzz cut and thrown in the trash years ago.
This is my path, and my sensitive bitch ass will find my success no matter how many takes I need. I will find my success because of these challenges I move though. They are not here to try to stop me, but to heal me. These obstacles are opportunities for the self mastery I was designed to experience and transcend. Take 2 (or 973,694,761) starts now.
At the time, I had my imaginary chefs hat on while preparing breakfast for the dogs I was taking care of for the week. I swear, it takes more time to prepare their meals than my own.
I glanced down when I saw my phone light up.
“Panna left the planet last night. He is free. I’m on phone with Dan now.”
I went from Gordon Ramsey to Forrest Gump as I raced to feed the dogs.
As soon as I could get my hands free, I responded.
I didn’t know what else to say.
I wanted to keep it positive so my dad didn’t think he just lost his father and his daughters mind in the same morning.
On my way down the stairs I left a voice memo to my friend, Lily, to update her on my ever changing, ridiculous life.
I then sent out a generic but sincere “I love you” text to my mom, dad, Uncle Dan, and sister, while I laid down on the couch. That’s where I am now, processing the last 10 minutes of my life.
I only got emotional towards the end of my voice memo to Lily, while thinking about what an incredible, funny, beautiful soul, just finished his time on Earth.
I’m surprised how I’m feeling, but it’s probably not why you think.
For years now, I was certain that at the news of my grandfathers inevitable passing, I would feel a certain type of way. Guilty.
Not the guilty feeling you get when you see someone has something in their teeth and you watch them walk away as your question your morals. I mean the guilt that stays with you for years.
Guilt for not calling more. Guilt for not making more of an effort to spend time with him. Guilt for not asking more questions about his extraordinary, inspiring life. Guilt, guilt, guilt.
So the fact that I don’t feel that emotion right now is beyond me.
If I could describe how I’m feeling right now, the first thing that would come to mind is tired if I’m being completely honest.
I also feel annoyed, but that’s because of a boy. When are boys not annoying though? They have the emotional intelligence of one of the dogs I’m watching after, that eats its own shit, tries to swallow rocks, and bumps into walls. 72% serious. Maybe I just need to start talking to different men. That’s besides the point.
The main feeling I have in regards to the passing of my grandfather is peace. Peace for his sake. He’s free, and I’m happy for him. His biggest fear was death, but I believe it to be a blessing for him. At 96 years old, he could only do so much more living. In fact, at that point it was more existing than living.
I feel gratitude. He was such a cool dude (my grandfather, not the boy I’m annoyed with) and so many of my talents I give him credit for. He was a standup comedian, voiceover actor, and followed his passions while bringing joy and laughter constantly to those around him.
I hope to follow in his footsteps, not his posture. Too soon to be making jokes? I think he would have laughed.
Lastly I feel relief. Not only for him as I mentioned before, but for myself! I spent so much time abroad worrying about my grandfather leaving this planet and me being swamped with guilt.
How ironic that my last moments by his side, I sang to him “Guilty” by Billy Holiday.
I don’t feel guilt. I feel growth.
I’ve come a long way. I know we all do the best we can and I am no exception to that. Yes, I wish I did do more with him, but there’s no point in feeling guilty. I’m worthy of feeling good and having a good life, guilt free, just as my grandfather would wish. So was he. So are you.
I’m happy that I give myself permission to witness my grandfather transition with ease, not guilt.
After the heartache, the mess, and the challenges that occurred two days ago, I’m feeling the light breeze from my open windows, thinking to myself “I needed that.” Seems bizarre considering a few days ago, what I thought I needed was a therapist and a sedative. To be fair, I probably still need both.
Rewind to one of my first weeks as a LA native. I open up an unread message in my DMs on instagram that I had been ignoring for days.
I read “Hey there I think we had a little chat on okc about your mesmerizing eyes and smile haha How are you?”
I told him I’m not on the dating app much, and gave him my instagram. I didn’t think he would actually send a message. He created an instagram account just to talk to me, which gave me some serious serial killer vibes.
Initially, he seemed like the type of guy that would send me a random friend request on Facebook and I’d think, “What in the no mutual friends do you want from my life?”
Then, foolishly accept the request, only to receive daily cringy messages and maybe an unsolicited dick pic.
He’s Israeli. Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes, and a bright smile. He had been working at a summer camp in California, and was spending his final month traveling America until his flight back to Israel.
Eventually, my judgments of him being a creepy serial killer faded. I knew that we would have a good time if we met up, so we did.
We met at the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I wasn’t nervous. I was happy to have good company in this new city.
When I first saw him crossing the street, I wanted to take him shopping so he could buy a new wardrobe. His jeans weren’t doing it for me. However, that’s not my job. He can call Queer Eye for the Straight Guy if he wants help.
Instead, we walked up and down the outlandish crowds and buildings on Hollywood Blvd. We talked, laughed, and teased each other until the California sun inspired us to take a seat at a table in the shade.
After 45 more minutes of fun in no sun, a man who had been sitting next to us walked over with the wrapper to his sandwich, and a nearly empty soda.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard your conversation. I just had to say, you guys have such amazing chemistry! It’s beautiful.” The stranger said to us with a smile.
That moment my friends, encapsulated our connection that day, and week to follow. However, that connection didn’t last forever.
He spent the following week traveling with his pack of Israeli friends. All the while, texting me all day, and FaceTiming with me every night. He would tell me daily how much he missed me and thought about me. I generally don’t miss people, but I pretended I did because I liked him.
He came back to LA early just to spend his final week with me at my apartment. *Insert dramatic impending doom music here*
We had completely different ideas of how we wanted to spend our week together. I wanted to explore the city. Maybe walk to the Hollywood sign, or take a trip to the beach. I thought about going to new restaurants or a bar in Hollywood.
He wanted to stay at the apartment all day, eat ramen in bed, and get his dick sucked. Our differences became more obvious each day.
On the fourth day, we were laying in bed, once again.
He put down his phone and said, “Change of plans. I’m going to spend my last few days with my friend in Pomona.”
I instantly felt a rush of emotions. Old trauma of abandonment issues and unworthiness began to bubble up within. I looked over, confused.
“Okay.” I said as I rolled over to face the window.
I couldn’t fathom having a conversation with the aching in my chest. I knew if he liked me the way he did before, he never would have wanted to leave.
After about 45 seconds he asked “How are you feeling?”
He knew something was wrong because my mouth usually doesn’t stay quiet for that long.
“Sad.” I said, as my eyes began to tear.
I could have played it off like I didn’t care, but I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to act like a little bitch to make him feel bad. I wanted to feel my aching heart so I could give it the space, love, and attention it was desperately searching for.
I let myself cry. Yes, in front of him. I wasn’t about to shove my feelings down and not give myself the opportunity to heal because of some 24 year old, ugly jean wearing dude.
I wasn’t Kim Kardashian’s ugly crying face sad. My eyes filled with tears, and in between my wavering words, I sniffled.
“I can’t see you like this.” He picked up his phone to book an uber instead of staying one more night.
He continued “Look, I’m just a 24 year old….”
“This isn’t about you.” I interrupted.
“I’m not mad at you. This is not about you. This is old shit coming up for me.” It felt good to say.
I selfishly didn’t want him thinking he was that special. He wasn’t. We had a special connection, but he definitely was giving himself far too much credit.
I had a line of guys out the door waiting for him to leave so they could see me. If he thought all my eggs were in his basket, he was sadly mistaken.
He did not create this feeling of unworthiness. He was the catalyst for this trapped trauma to resurface and, with my willingness, heal.
This was not about him. This was my father leaving when I was a child. This was my first and biggest crush choosing to be with someone else. This was me, looking myself in the mirror every day as a kid thinking “You’re not good enough.”This was me, taking a knife to my body in middle school, and developing additions to cope in high school, because I wanted to escape the internal pain rather than face it and transcend the trauma.
Wasn’t expecting this to get so dark, but here we are. Don’t worry, it lightens up.
I acknowledged that it wasn’t about him and I did nothing wrong. Ever.
This is life. I am worthy of a good one. My worthiness is not dependent on the actions or feelings of others.
I let myself feel all of the past pain, and gave it the space to exist without judgement.
By the time the uber arrived, my tears and aches passed.
I’ll never forget the sad look in his eyes when we hugged goodbye. I made a lighthearted joke which I can’t remember now. Then, with a smile, I turned around to leave his sight for the last time.
We haven’t spoken since and I’m genuinely fine with it. I truly believe he was brought into my life to help me heal, and help both of us grow in profound ways.
…But for fucks sake, I was only the second person he had ever been with romantically. I should have at least gotten a written thank you card after all I taught him, if you ask me.
Jokes aside, I didn’t expect it would end this way. I will say, when it’s all said and done, I am beyond grateful for how things played out.
Sometimes the experiences that feel bad, are the ones that bring you what you are needing the most.
For those of you who have been following my journey, you already know my life has kind of been like that meme of baby Yoda all teary-eyed, with the caption “When you think you’ve healed that part of you, but the world throws you a curve ball.” but then, like a fucking beast, I somehow manage to wipe the tears, put on a smile, and get better at catching the ball next time. Well, life just threw me a massive curveball. It scared the shit out of me, but here’s how I’m going to catch it.
I’ve been saving nearly half of my pay check every month for a rainy day. Then it rains, and instead of buying a new umbrella, I’ve been taking out my broken one, patched up with duck tape, leaking from every side. Obviously, that’s a metaphor, although my grandfather legitimately used to duck-tape the holes on his umbrella.
Well, no more of that. I’m investing quite a bit of money, and it’s going towards the most important thing in anyones life. Themselves. I’m hiring a personal boxing coach, a business coach, new decor and plants for my home, art supplies, not holding back as much when I go out to eat or shop with friends, weekend getaway trips, and the list goes on. Mind you, I have been working hard to have the means to do this. I’m not telling you to brake the bank and test your luck in Vegas.
In short, you can’t pour from an empty cup, and sometimes the best way to fill it is to go and buy some water (Or champagne, whatever floats your boat) instead of walking miles to a dirty well. Investing in yourself doesn’t have to be lavish or expensive, but it does have to be done if you want to make the best of the life you’re living. Other ways you could invest in yourself is taking a nice relaxing bubble bath or painting your toe nails. I say that mainly because it’s on the forefront of my mind because I’m still sweaty from the gym and I so desperately need a pedicure right now.
Nothing in your life will come easily if you yourself are not at ease. Our lives are an external reflection of our internal world, so what’s even more important than buying all of these things is getting your mind ready for them. How are you going to invest in yourself?
I am not alright. As I’ve mentioned in a previous blog, I’ve been having severe sleep issues for months. To put things in perspective, when I went to the sleep lab to get tested overnight, during my 4.5 hours of sleep, I had 7 sleep apnea episodes and woke up a whopping 25 times. Imagine that. Actually don’t because it sucks, I know first hand.
The best they could diagnose me with was sleep architecture disorder which I’m convinced they made up. They probably saw me and figure I looked like an architecture with disorders and called it a day. I’m pretty fucked up right now though, so they’re half right.
Fucked up how, I’ll explain. I’ve been managing this lack of sleep like a tank for so long. By that I mean I’ve been juggling my 4 jobs, social life, and passion projects miraculously well. I had myself convinced I could keep going, but at what cost and until when?
Well, I found out 4 days ago that my limit had been reached. It was pretty clear due to my historical crying and dwindling will to live. Sounds pretty extra but if you went months without sleeping well, you’d want to hit the restart button at some point too.
I say I’m not alright, but I will be. My sleep will improve. In fact, because of this, I’ll be better than before. That’s how hard times and struggles work if you adapt and make the best of it. When something knocks you off course, the only way to get back on track is to focus more diligently than before. Now, I have more determination and eagerness to thrive, and drive to do what it takes to do so. I have to conjure faith and confidence in myself that I will be able to be better and do better than ever, and I will. I know this because that’s the attitude you need to create a life worth living and I’m not letting mine go to waste.
Faith, focus, and fun…. and a bomb sleep routine. That is what I need to create now to ensure I make the most of this blessing in disguise. Sounds like a sign you’d see hanging on the bedroom wall, of a girl named Becky, who goes to Starbucks so much that they make her a pumpkin spice latte as soon as she comes through the door. Regardless, next time you’re in a rut, remember when you have faith in yourself, focus on the life you’re excited to create, and make having more fun and enough sleep a priority, in time, the results will be fucking fabulous. Just watch.
Your girl was ghosted. I’m talking Scooby Doo Ghosted. Like, I want to solve the God damn mystery. Although I’m pretty sure I know why, the only way to solve this entirely is to move on. However, this topic is still worth exploring.
So, why do we ghost? I’m not going to lie, even though I was so salty about being ghosted myself, that’s not to say I didn’t do something similar to someone else the following week. The situations were vastly different though, so I still think I deserve an explanation and apology from that fuck boi. Anyways, there are many reasons we do it and I honestly believe in some cases, it is for the best, but not in mine and not in many others.
Here’s what happened to me… I didn’t want to marry the dude. I would have been fine calling him “Thursday night” or having him in my contacts as “Netflix and fuck”. He, however, probably assumed otherwise considering the speed in which things progressed. You know how things can be as an expat. Day one swipe right, day two Netflix and chill, and by the end of the week you live together and he’s shitting with the door open. Consequently, instead of simply expressing his concerns or what he wanted, he went from Magic Mike to Houdini, and disappeared. At least that’s my assumption. What would have been ideal is not having to come up with an assumption because someone was mature enough to express himself and his needs/wants.
Ghosting is the easy way out, but is it the right way out? In cases where there has been some type of connection developed and it moved beyond acquaintances, then ghosting is a cop out to avoid expressing yourself like a mature adult. It’s more of a mind fuck to try to figure out what happened than to hear the truth. So, in many cases it’s selfish and inconsiderate. As I said, I’m no saint, I’ve been there done that, but it’s important to do what you can to improve your own communications skills, and own up to how you feel.
More importantly, if you’re on the ghosted end of the spectrum, if they’re not mature enough to give you a response or explanation in the first place, what makes you think you’re going to get the kind of response or closure you’re looking for if you attempt to pry it out of them? It’s like trying to calm down Karen mid conversation with the manager. It would probably cause more harm than good.
You won’t always be able to get the closure you deserve. However, you are able to move forward regardless by closing that door and allowing new ones to open. So, in short, communicate instead of ghost, and don’t ever chase a ghost for answers. Thank you, next.
I think it’s safe to say we’re all a little fucked up. Thanks mom and dad. Ultimately though, we are the ones responsible for unfucking ourselves to become the person that our fucked-upness has inspired us to be.
On a scale of one to fucked, lately I’d say I’ve been at a “fuck”. That’s to say I like my life and have a lot of great things going on for me right now. I’m content, yet, there may have been more than a few times this week where I’ve done or felt something that made me think “Fuck.” Lately the fucks have been getting louder, but let me explain why nothing could be better than a good “FUCK!”
Sometimes, we choose to let things bother us for too long. We hold on even when the lesson or resistance that served its purpose has expired. Then the fucks get louder and louder until *BAM* you suddenly feel like a hangry Hulk.
When we forget how powerful we are, we fuck ourselves over by thinking sloppily and sitting in self pity. It creates negative momentum until the next thing you know, you’re looking like a hopeless romantic who’s single on valentines day. However, there’s so much beauty and opportunity in those times. Those fucks are essentially wake up calls. It’s an invitation to positively transform your life by using your focus to make beneficial changes in your thoughts and behaviors. It’s life’s way of telling you it’s time to get back into alignment. Sometimes, I’ll admit, I’m a little deaf, but once I tune in and listen, step aside because I’m going from a hangry Hulk to Wonder Woman.
Unfucking ourselves is even more satisfying than a good fuck because you don’t need to rely on anyone else. More importantly, the amount of self motivation and power conjured during the unfucking is more liberating and empowering than I can put into words. When life seems to be fucking you over, acknowledge that this is your wakeup call to unfuck yourself and create the life you’ve been wanting to live.
Have you ever wondered why you’re in another situationship/relationship/fling with a guy who has the maturity or emotional intelligence of a fetus? Or, perhaps you continue to date someone who is controlling or manipulative. Whatever the case may be, I can relate when it comes to attracting a similar type of person. I’d like to introduce myself. Hello, I’m Emotionally Unavailable Man Magnet.
Currently, my crush is emotionally unavailable for a plethora of reasons, but I think the fact that he has a girlfriend is a good place to start. My last crush had just gotten out of a 6 year relationship with the love of his life who left him for another girl. I think it’s safe to say he had some kinks to iron out. I could go on for eons but you get the point.
A few months ago, I was talking to a fellow human being, (I was going to say friend, but that would have been a lie.) when he unexpectedly read me faster than Harry Potter back in 1998. I felt naked, and although I’m pretty sure I literally was at the time, I’m speaking figuratively.
Why? Well, somehow we got on the topic of relationships. After he spoke of his past love/ trainreck of an ex fiancé back when he was 18, I mentioned how I’d never been in love. That’s when the reading glasses came on. He took a drag of his cigarette from my bedroom porch before he spoke.
“You probably started to fall for someone back when you were like 15, and before anything could actually happen, he hurt you, and now you never let yourself go that far because you don’t want to get hurt again.” I sat at the edge of my bed with my mouth wide open. He smirked like he just spoiled the ending of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince without my consent.
Instantly, my mind was flooded with thoughts and memories that made my heart ache. I began to ruminate about the boy I liked when I was 15, and how that became the catalyst for self harm and a suicide attempt. I also questioned if that connection could possibly still be affecting me over a decade later. To be honest, it wouldn’t have been the first time I asked myself that. I started to regret swiping right on this dude that was now pouring himself another drink while I sat in a state of inner turmoil.
I began to ask myself, is the reason I crush on emotionally unavailable men because I unconsciously feel safer from harm? Is that why I tend to attract those experiences? Could going down this rabbit hole solve anything? The answer to the latter is possibly, but why not tell myself a new story instead? Maybe that was true, but that was then and this is now. Now, I don’t need a magic potion or wand to start shifting my perspective on life and love. It won’t be as easy as saying “Wingardiujm Leviosa!” but acknowledging that it is safe for me to be open to love, and more importantly, paying attention to my passions and projects rather than penis, will steer me in the right direction.
It’s time to tell ourselves the stories we want to read. I’m throwing away that old emotionally unavailable man magnet tale. I am a magnet for personal development and opportunities for positive change. I’d like to reintroduce myself. Hello, I’m Brooke Lyn Landon, and I’m a magnet for forward movement, and continuously creating a life of fulfillment.
Does this movement matter? Um duh, but clickbait is a thing. That said, this may be one of the hardest blog posts I’ve ever written. Mind you, I’ve published blog posts about my biggest fears and insecurities, put people on blast, exposed my sex life and addictions, and posted a blog about my relapse just days after. Then, why is this so difficult?
I’ve always been an open person. When it comes to talking about me, I have no shortage of things to say. However, what’s going on in the US right now, being a white privileged female, living in Vietnam, feels so far from me. I want to know what to say, but I don’t. My heart hurts for the world and the people of color who have so many obstacles in our society, but I could never claim to understand what they’re going through. In the past when riots like this in my country broke out, I stayed silent because I felt my voice wouldn’t make a difference. I hid and took advantage of my white privilege by closing my eyes and ears to the truth that our society was and still is so fucked.
Don’t think so? In 2018, the median income for an African American household was $41,361 U.S. dollars compared to $70,642 for non-Hispanic white households. About 40% of homelessness in the U.S. is African American even though they only make up 13% of the population, and the poverty rate is 20.8%, which is more than double the poverty rate for white people. (8.1%) We haven’t even started talking about racism. 78% of African Americans think they’re being treated unfairly and 15.8% of black students in the US reported experiencing race-based bullying or harassment.
Black lives matter. But why talk about it if what I say won’t really make a difference? Because that’s only what I thought, but what I thought may not be true. That goes for us all. It’s so easy to think we can’t make a difference. “Who am I to make the world better?” “There’s no hope.” “This will end soon enough without my help.” etc. There are millions of copouts as to why we don’t need to speak up or act out. Deep down though, we know it feels wrong to be complacent because we’re lying to ourselves when we say we can’t make a difference. I’m not telling you to go climb the Empire State Building, and cause a scene. Our actions don’t have to be big or acknowledged by the masses to make a difference. More simple acts of kindness can make an impactful change.
I will never forget September 11th for many reasons, but one being what happened to my mother that morning. She was in a grocery store parking lot on 9/11. She noticed a man of color, in torn and worn-out clothes, looking distraught. He looked homeless. She could have easily looked the other way to go about her business and get her shopping done. Instead, she asked if he was okay. He told her that his son worked on the 98th floor of the first tower that fell. He tried contacting him all morning but hadn’t heard back. Needless to say, his son’s life was likely lost that day. For the next ten minutes, my mother and this stranger embraced, crying into each others arms.
Imagine how much that man needed soneone’s support in that moment. Not to mention, how that one act of kindness stuck with me nearly 20 years later. Shit, that made me feel old. Anyways, you get the point. Show up and show your support in whatever way you can because you can make a difference. Black lives matter, and what you do to support their lives matters too.