118 words for 2018

 

Dear 2018,

 

I want to take care of me, in all the ways.

 

I want to cheer for myself and others.

 

I want to use my literal voice, reading out loud.

 

I want to have time for large decisions.

 

I want to stop investing emotional energy in people who don’t invest in me.

 

I want to live in tidy environments.

 

I don’t want to feel as if I act, look, or feel wrong.

 

I want to meditate.

 

I want to bond with friends and strangers.

 

I want to dig in spongy dirt, find my sleeping roots, and whisper them awake: “You have blessed me, and you will support a new bloom.”

 

Look forward to meeting you.

 

Love,

Bailey

Things I want to say no to

 

I hope that in answering the question below I don't lose (too) many friends...This is a continuation of a project I started a while back and have put on hold because this question is scary to answer publicly!!! That taken into consideration, I'm not writing down everything that applies, but I did come up with a pretty decent list that I'm comfortable sharing.

 

From the 52 Lists for Happiness journal, let us move on to item #15:

 

List the things you want to say no to

 

Dogs that bark a lot or don't respect my personal space

 

Dismissiveness when I bring God or my faith into a conversation

 

Competition between women

 

Dessert at restaurants (If I want some, I'll let you know. Please don't force me to try a bite of what you ordered because you wanted it.)

 

Messiness

 

Dentist appointments

 

Junk mail

 

Biting my tongue because I'm too scared to call someone out

 

Incessantly grey skies

 

GAME NIGHTS

 

Self righteousness on social media (from ANY edge of the political sphere)

 

People who are mean or rude. Can this just absolutely stop?

 

Leaving the house after 7 p.m.

 

Taking trash out

 

Detangling knots in thread

 

Dinners out with more than four people

 

Camping with more than...we'll say six people

 

Social engagements where I feel left out or ignored

 

People taking advantage of my generosity or kindness

 

Grocery shopping

 

Sound systems that are too loud

 

Visiting museums

 

Going to the theater (I'm always nervous actors are going to forget their lines)

 

Watching movies as a group activity

 

Impulsively buying books and concert tickets

 

Showers and shaving (if these things could happen automatically, that'd be great)

 

Clothing that doesn't keep me warm

 

People who dominate conversations or interviewees who go off topic

 

Traveling when I'm stressed out

 

Mediating/keeping the peace (I'm sick of gritting my teeth, hoping that no one starts fighting)

 

Discussions about books I will never read, movies I will never see, or industries I will never work in (unless I'm genuinely interested or the chatter only lasts for a bit)

 

***

 

OK, thanks for reading! It was nice knowing all of you!*

 

*I'd also like to say no to my fear that people will dislike me if I speak honestly about things I don't care for.

 

Smooches! Merry almost Christmas!

Brewer? Brewer? Anyone? Anyone?

There were several times this year when I wondered where I had gone.

I certainly kept myself in motion -- boarding 16 airplanes, moving twice, picking up freelance jobs and driving to Phoenix for a bachelor party I had planned in great detail.

But I cried one day, as Alex drove me to departures, telling him I hadn't read in weeks, cross stitched in months. It wasn't simply an issue of I was too busy to do these things that I love, I just wasn't doing them. Looking back, I guess maybe it was active depression (I've never been a sleep-all-day depressed person), but on another level I felt like Bailey Kathleen had just taken a hike somewhere...and become lost along the way. It was like the series finale of Full House when Michelle's memory becomes separate from her body and they each walk around their home trying to reunite.

***

Each December my friend Jill asks me what my word was for the past year. Last year and this, I believe my immediate response was "full." (I've been having some serious tetes-a-tete with myself recently and have decided that the over scheduling has got to stop, for more reasons than one but chiefly for my peace of mind).

As I drove to Panera (where else) this morning, it came to me that maybe my word is something else.

Maybe my word this year is Present.

By my own high standards, I don't think I've been a great friend this year. I haven't really achieved any lofty goals. I lost weight, but that was kind of by accident, not the result of some dedicated gym rat-ness.

But I've been here. I still am here. Through the awful and the calm, I've shown up. Though it feels like I went on a hike, I've really never disappeared. I've discovered that being present doesn't just apply to meditative or euphoric moments -- turns out it might just require that we feel honestly and we honestly feel.

I've also learned that honoring one's emotions needn't mean that we spiral into oblivion -- but that's another discussion for another blog post.

***

This year, I was present in the bong-bong video game sounds of the MRI tube, counting my way up to 10 and back down again, over and over, trying not to move my stockinged feet.

I've been present in the sleepiness that follows lunch breaks spent reading in my warm car, yawning as I scan my badge to come back to work.

I was present in my unstoppable giggles as I almost crashed the moving van and Sam commentated from the passenger seat, "You are making some decisions right now..."

I was present for -- no, literally -- the best refried beans of my life, on Hill Street.

I was present in my stiffening fear, as I went to latimes.com and saw, highlighted in red: Korea launches missile.

I was present in my fury toward the gunman in Vegas, who ripped open a concert with terror and death, who interrupted the inalienable right to get lost, and then found, in music.

I was present later that night, with Kansas City Chiefs fans in a bar. I was present in the beer that was poured from a pitcher, by a person I just met. I was present in recognizing my need to be with some Midwestern homies, at the end of a day that was trying for us all.

I was present in the opening notes of a second line that pronounced my best friend married and happy and where he's meant to be, finally. I gulped down could-be-sobs as I reflected on 14 years of friendship, hamming it up for the camera man in my one-shoulder Michelle Obama dress.

I was present in Loren's hugs after church.

I was present on quiet neighborhood streets, where I creeped the Corolla Coaster along, watching 199,999 miles become 200,000.

I was present in the Delta Airlines baggage check line, while my tushy should have been squished in a seat on the plane.

[Whoops.]

I was present in the guilt of overspending, in the gentle reminder that the past is past, in the belief that I can change.

Though few and far between, I was present on the treadmill, finding just a little bit of that runner's high I used to know so well.

I was present in Happy Hour at my favorite haunt, laughing with my roommates and feeling like myself for the first time in who knows how long.

I was present in the hurt and anger of things unforgiven.

I was present in the words of Annie, training my voice not to catch as I read to a sweet man in a coma, watching his blood pressure drop in response to a message of humor and hope.

I was present in my helpless ache, watching the heart I love the most just shatter.

I'm present now in the water crawling out the corners of my eyes. I'm in public and it keeps coming but I don't care because I am present.

I was present in the force of sugar that filled my Pepsi an hour ago, and the steaming salt of my mac and cheese.

I was present in the discomfort of therapy sessions.

I was present in the writing out of my thoughts, challenging them to excavate truth.

I was present in shared, stifled laughter, as my family prayed over Oscar, and his big brother dunked a handkerchief in the baptismal font.

I was present in unfollowing a celebrity on Instagram, whose life I just can't relate to.

I was present in texting Jill, present in asking Courtney for prayer.

I was present in my Panera booth, writing prayers even when I was afraid I had nothing hopeful to put on the page. I was present for my church family, and they were present for me.

I was present holding a friend as she cried.

I was present in silly chatter with Molly on FaceTime.

I was present in a weekend in the snow, chaperoning some pretty great high schoolers and admiring their respectful, fun nature.

I was present with those same youth on a sandy beach, playing football and huddling up.

I was present in Jennifer Knapp's incredible voice, which has so much to say, sung and written.

I was present in a muted world, with ears so congested I called Alex in a panic.

I was present with thousands of strangers, singing "The Hills are Alive," sipping on a spicy cocktail, enjoying the heck out of myself.

I was present in my shame when a relationship was unexpectedly terminated.

I was present in the best, deepest, most healing breaths of the year, every time I finished a Headspace meditation.

I was present in so many conversations with strangers, conversations I ate up and that made me grin.

I was present in the rocking of our cruise ship, afraid in our cabin as Alex held me and assured me we were fine.

I was present in the donation rooms of Goodwills, shedding things I didn't need, driving away with airy ease.

I was present in the absence of my grandmother, our first year without her.

I was present in the fear of unsettling biopsy results.

I was present in the swaying of my hips at a Jens Lekman show, the jollity of steel drums and bizarre lyrics moving me in rhythm, a giant smile cracking across my face.

I was present in repeating to myself something I needed to believe: that any given emotion doesn't last forever. Mercies are always new.

***

Though I always did well in school, I wasn't always the best at paying attention. I hated getting in trouble for talking out of turn, and even in my last week of college a professor responded to my question: "I already answered that, while you were sleeping over there."

So I don't have the best track record for being...all there.

But I pride myself on refusing to multi-task, in giving great focus to detail, in listening closely and remembering facts about people and their lives.

Though this year has not been short on challenges, I am so grateful for the revelations I've had and the people who have believed in me when I wasn't so sure. I'm so glad that I'm here to go into next year, to be kind to myself, to move forward, to set some goals and go after them.

In 2018, when life calls my name, I'll be ready.

"Bailey Brewer?"

PRESENT.

What I love (and hate) about the beach

 

This post is inspired by a modified writing prompt from the awesome book my friend Courtney just got me. Ta dah!

 

What I love (and hate) about the beach

*an overthought essay by Bailey Brewer*

 

We'll start with what I hate, so that we can end on a positive note:

 

I hate that I associate the beach with loneliness. During my late twenties I went to the beach a lot to try and combat restlessness, to feel less alone even though so often I went there alone. Sadly my antidote was rarely effective, and I often left the shores feeling worse than when I got there. I haven't shaken this connection between sand and sadness (we'll call it sandness), but I do have hope that someday I can go to the beach and feel calm and at peace again.

 

I hate that I feel salty and grimy enough after going to the beach that I can't go directly to a formal gala (as if this is a real problem in my life). I have, however, gotten in the habit of bringing dry shampoo, a comb, a hair tie, and deodorant with me to the beach so that I can freshen up enough to feel comfortable to go to dinner somewhere.

 

I haaaaaaate parking at the beach. Your choices are either to park a mile away and walk or pay $50 to park right next to the sand. There is no in between.

 

I hate that one has to allow an hour plus (from where I live) to get from her front door to toes in the sand. And I hate that it costs a billion dollars to live near the beach. There is no in between.

 

I hate that most beaches don't allow alcohol.

 

I hate that the water off the coast of LA is too cold to swim in.

 

I hate that sometimes my mind wanders to tsunamis while I sunbathe.

 

In general sand getting everywhere doesn't bother me, but I do hate the combo of sand and sunscreen on my hands.

 

I hate that it is hard for me -- in the bright sunlight and with all the action -- to focus well enough to read. I love reading at the beach in theory, but really it aggravates me.

 

I hate feeling jealous when I see any cutesy/quirky/sexy apartment or house by the beach.

 

I hate worrying that kids aren't being properly watched by their parents.

 

And finally, I hate having to pee at the beach. Hearing waves crash does not curb the urge, for one. Second, one's options are to use disgusting beach bathrooms or go in the frigid water and casually pretend you're not peeing. There is no in between.

 

OK, let's move on to what I love!:

 

I love the way my hair braids itself into the salty wind, tangling my locks for sure.

 

I love thoughtlessly letting handfuls of sand sift through my fingers.

 

When I am brave enough (because the riptide in SoCal is like whoa), I love to get every last patch of skin and strand of hair wet and then dry slowly in the sun.

 

I looooooooove the way my hair feels to the touch when it's dry and hot from the sun.

 

I love consuming the major beach food groups: Diet Coke, chips, and candy.

 

I love ornery seagulls, and observing that they are almost as big as my fat cat. I like to cheer them on as they eat the snacks of people playing in the water.

 

I don't love all the preparation for the beach (99% of this reason is because I live so far away and so I feel pressure to remember every last thing I might want or need), but I do love having a Mary Poppins bag with me.

 

I love that the sun is so bright it is hard to see the screen on my phone, causing me to set it aside for once.

 

I love the briny, fishy smell of the air.

 

I love that when I bring my camera, beach photos turn out great.

 

I've only done this once, but I love eating funnel cake from the Santa Monica pier.

 

I love feeling like I have the beach to myself when I do a Sunday morning run down there. It is usually foggy, and life slowly emerges as café owners start setting up patio umbrellas. To see just a handful of people in a city of millions is magical in its own way.

 

I wouldn't say love, but in a twisted way (because jealousy is so much in the forefront) I like to imagine living in one of those cutesy/quirky/sexy homes by the beach.

 

I love hearing kids squeal as cold water rushes up the sand and nips at their legs. California frostbite.

 

I love being at the beach with people who I can talk to but who are comfortable in silence.

 

I love when an out-of-state friend comes to town and wants to go to the beach. I either avoid the beach entirely or go without hesitation to entertain a guest. There is no in between.

My game changer

 

I chose Andy because he's British. I decided to stick with Andy because he changed my life.

 

I believe Jill told me about meditation before my therapist did, and I don't remember when exactly, but one day I decided to download some free apps and go for it.

 

The first I tried, Calm, was OK. In particular I listened to its "sleep stories," read in monotonous tones to ease me into slumber at night.

 

It didn't take long with Headspace, however, to know that it was the app for me. (No, I'm not receiving any sort of payment for writing about this app -- I simply love it enough to tell you about it).

 

At first, I kept with Headspace over Calm because I preferred Andy's (the guy who guides and voices all the meditations) accent. And before I knew it, I was realizing just how powerful his 10 minute sessions were. There have been several strong forces in my life this year -- generous, awful, depressing, stressful, funny -- but one of the biggest, and certainly most peaceful has been incorporating meditation into my...well, into my head.

 

There are several meditations on Headspace that are free, but for an additional payment ($99 for a year) one can unlock hundreds of emotion-specific sessions. I made the investment and have zero regrets.

 

So, rather quickly, let me just tell you some points/highlights about meditation itself, how my life has been affected, etc.

 

1. If you're religious and freaked out that meditation will take you off your faith path, I'd rethink that.

 

I mostly only speak for Headspace here, but so far with my experience my good pal Andy simply asks me to focus on my breathing, notice the sounds around me, spot areas of tension (and suppleness) in my body, etc. Occasionally he has me picture my body filling with warm light or visualizing myself or others with giant smiles on their face.

 

Nothing offensive, right? I didn't think so either.

 

2. 10 minutes is truly a small amount of time.

 

I'm not kidding when I say that it never feels as long as 10 minutes, and I always want to keep going once a session is done. When Andy tells me to open my eyes, I almost always do so begrudgingly. But! I almost always, always feel better -- refreshed, calm, less freaked out, less overwhelmed -- even after I've opened my eyes. In fact, in a way, once I open those peepers back up I feel better than I do while I was meditating. Like running, I'd be willing to argue that the after effects of meditation are more satisfying than the act itself. And, bonus: with meditation you don't have to, ya know...run. I mean maybe we all should do more exercise, but I'm not preaching that message right here right now.

 

3. I don't meditate every day, and you don't have to, either.

 

Like so many other things in life (I will tell you about all of them if you let me up on my soapbox), this is not something you have to do every day. I think there is certainly time for it in every day, since it is in 10 minute bytes, but I don't think that the effects reverse or disappear if one doesn't meditate for days, or weeks. Is it helpful to do it more often? Absolutely. Should you feel guilty for doing it every once in a while? I don't.

 

The best way I can describe this, I guess, is that I often forget about meditating, but as soon as I remember it or remind myself that doing it will help me feel better, I always want to do it. I don't have the same feeling toward eating right or exercising. I "want" to do those things in theory, but not actually. I'm not sure that makes sense, but I'm much more willing to head to my car on my break at work and listen to Andy for 10 than I am to get on the treadmill or turn down Salsa Verde Doritos.

 

4. Meditation is basically 31 Flavors for your heart.

 

Now that I've paid for the unlimited avenues of the Headspace app, I literally scroll through looking for what emotion or issue I'd like to tackle in a given moment. Restlessness, anxiety, depression, anger, regret, focus.

 

Even prior to becoming a paid user, however, the simplicity and redundancy of the sessions that are available in front of the pay wall cover a surprising number of feelings and struggles. Most sessions follow a very similar pattern, making one better as he goes along at settling into the rhythm of quieting and centering.

 

5. It's way easier than it seems.

 

I know. It's meditating. Shut your eyes and be quiet -- what more is there to it?

 

Well, I was hesitant to try. I thought my mind would wander (it does, and that's fine, and Andy helps you deal with that). I thought I'd be forced to visualize complicated scenarios as if I had signed up to play Dungeons and Dragons instead of just calm the frick down.

 

Let me say, as a girl who ran on a mental hamster wheel probably in utero, I can do it. So I believe that everyone equally and not-quite-as neurotic as me can do this, too.

 

You know how sometimes you're reading a book and you're about to get bored with a storyline or character and then the author switches gears to someone or something else? And you're like "Oh thank you thank you"?

 

Meditating, for me, is kind of the same. Andy has me focus on my breathing, but only for about a minute to 90 seconds. Then he has me focus on how my body feels. Then, finally, he lets my mind wander -- which, SPOILER, I'm always grateful for but even more grateful when that moment ends.

 

Anyway. It's simple.

 

And it has changed. My. Life. So. Mucccccccccccch.

 

Meditation is one of the first things I turn to when I'm overwhelmed, antsy, blue, distracted. I feel so good when I do -- so much so that that several times while writing this post I've closed my eyes and taken in a deep breath just imagining the relaxation I feel when I close my eyes and listen to Andy.

 

Please do yourself a favor and try it. I can't tell you enough how much this has helped me feel truly better when I'm depressed, truly more calm when I feel like screaming, truly more like I have a tool in my hands that I can actually count on at any moment.

 

OK, I'll leave you now. If you see Andy, tell him I say "Thanks."