A weekend that won

 

This weekend was a service to my soul, a tune-up for my attitude, a peace amidst questions.

 

So many tiny, amazing things happened, and even with tears involved it was basically perfect.

 

I finished it with a 12-hour night of sleep and woke up still sleepy. Sufficiently worn out and supersaturated with gratitude. Supergratituded.

 

***

 

I had a party on Friday to celebrate the Daily Bailey's 10th birthday. Friends came out to be a part of the event, and I reveled in the miracle that (save one of the people in attendance) I knew none of them seven years ago. These are friends I've met at a wings restaurant, a Gin Blossoms concert, a backyard BBQ, church, even through blogging itself.

 

I made a quiz about the blog and people asked if the different colors of paper it was printed on meant that the quiz had various versions.

 

"That's just because I like color," I explained, and assured them the quiz was strictly voluntary, because if there's one thing I hate it's mandatory games at parties.

 

Alex, angel that he is, recognized I was busy circulating among the attendees, hosting it with the most of it, and offered to grade the exams.

 

I kneeled atop a bar stool and read the answers in the crowded brewery, and my friends gathered close to hear the results and eagerly shout which ones they thought were correct. Our proctor Alex revealed the surprised winner, a faithful reader of the blog who scored a 7/11.

 

There was rainbow-colored cake with cookie dough bites edging the rim, a last-minute text sent just in time to a guest who hadn't arrived requesting she bring candles.

 

There was an exorbitant fee for "cake cutting" even though we just borrowed a knife and did the cutting ourselves, but the service staff was so kind and calm and attentive with us that I switched my annoyance into the perspective that this was just an extra tip to thank them for all their help.

 

People stayed late and ordered happy hour food. One friend left then returned later with another friend in tow. I got sleepy but knew it was amazing that people had gathered for my milestone and so I bucked up and enjoyed their excitement as they found Ninja Turtle stickers and SpongeBob tattoos and coupons for karaoke and hiking dates in their party favor bags.

 

I fell asleep in my jeans and woke up pleased and content.

 

***

 

Alex and I jogged around the block, and I stopped to walk but didn't spiral into feelings of failure.

 

I felt the endorphins arrive and smeared ivory foundation over my splotched, athletic face.

 

A group of musicians whom we've met through an open mic performed a showcase, and when we arrived they all got big grins on their faces and pulled us into hugs, so excited that we showed up. One of them played a song that I didn't request, but he knows it's my favorite of his and that I listen to it regularly to calm down and rest inside a moment. He told me after his set that he had played it on purpose, and our beers clicked in the sound of friendship.

 

I cleaned my room and my bathroom and lit candles of different hues and scents while a cracked window brought in fresh breath.

 

Feeling self-conscious about something I cried, and Alex tickled me to make me laugh, and at some point the tears stopped. (Then I showed him that video of the girl who's crying and cheers up thanks to Fraggle Rock and peanut butter and jelly, and we agreed with zero joking that she is just like me.)

 

With my body curved in an L-shape, I took a nap, then went out for pizza and salad. Put gas in the car, bought cat litter, went back home and quickly fell asleep again.

 

I ate macaroni salad and de-scaled the coffee maker and called my mom.

 

I wore a dress and started two books, gathered papers into a stack and put away laundry I washed the week before.

 

I painted my nails to look like Easter eggs, to literally have color at my fingertips.

 

But even if this weekend had nails in the nude, or a cake without funfetti, or quizzes printed on paper white, it would have been filled with hues a many. Because the tiny, amazing things, and the giant, generous hearts that filled it are so colorful my life feels like a stationery shop where everything is free. Cards of mint and pens of coral, washi tape of grape and stamps of flora.

 

My friends are a boutique of paper and pencils, and coming from this writer, that's a compliment to be reckoned with.

 

Thanks to all who helped us celebrate far and wide, who offer me giggles and endorphins and cheers over beers on the regular. Your color reminds me this life isn't black and white, and that it doesn't have to be sad like grey either.

 

Xox

The Daily Bailey: A Decade of Gifts

I admit it’s a little weird to commemorate/honor/celebrate something that, of late, I’ve neglected. But this blog has laid so much groundwork for my life, and if I never started it I maybe wouldn’t see myself as a writer today, and boy would my life feel different. As I’ve reflected on the past decade as a blogger (10 years today, what?!), I decided it’s appropriate to make a list of 10 gifts that the Daily Bailey has given to me. Because without her generosity, I might be pretty lost. So without further ado, here are the gifts this dear blog has bestowed upon my life and person:

1.       Assurance

When I started blogging, my ultimate dream was to know that my words could make others know that they weren’t alone. That dream has come true for me, as readers have come back and told me that I helped them feel they were in good company. In reading those responses, I realized I wasn’t alone, either, and that was a miracle I never saw coming.

2.       Belief

After blogging for 10 years, and letting that springboard me into other genres and industries of writing, I truly believe that I am a writer. What’s more, Y’all call me a writer, and that’s just notarized validation right there. Really, though, it means the world to hear that title attached to my name. Crazy, wild, beautiful journey I never knew I was setting out on.

3.       Practice

Even though I’ve sweated out my beginner’s fear in newsrooms, the blog has provided me with more consistent and valuable practice as a writer. I’ve learned that even if no one reads a post, it’s still worthwhile to throw my heart into it. Writers aren’t made by influence nor affluence. Writers make, and it’s up to us to say what we must, regardless of audience.

4.       Distraction

Whether I’m on deadline to turn in a magazine piece, avoiding filing my taxes, or when I was in graduate school especially, blogging has become one of my favorite forms of procrastination. It makes me feel productive, sometimes garners reader discussion, and…it always provides me with more of that great teacher: practice.

5.       Confidence

Without my blog as a base, I wouldn’t have considered studying journalism, but doing so led me to my life here. Several jobs and situations have made me feel like my edges were mis-cut, but thanks to the established confidence that had been laid by blog experience, I learned that I could power my way through challenges and become a more well-rounded writer.

6.        Hope

While my career doesn’t look the way I want it to, my vocation does. I feel truly called to write, and that alongside the continual encouragement I get from friends and readers gives me a forward-looking mindset. Knowing that blogging could have gone in any direction (or nowhere), but decided to go somewhere gives me faith that things will continue to be borne of that initial effort.

7.       Outlet

So many emotional wounds have been lanced via writing for this blog, and if not fully healed at least some of the poison got out once I knew that I wasn’t keeping my thoughts to myself. Making vulnerability so public has definitely had its share of misgivings, but ultimately it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

8.       Rest

In the blogosphere and beyond, I have been heard, and what's more, loved in response, and that conducts such incredible peace.

9.       Purpose

Growing up in a loving family, with good friends and supportive mentors and teachers, and believing in a God who loves us all, I have never doubted that I have value. But purpose is another animal that one has to really chase in order to trust he’s there; purpose has a way of disappearing around corners, making one feel lost in the forest. My purpose still plays hide-and-seek on occasion, but I know she’ll always return to heart base.

10.   You

This blog has fostered so much community it my life it’s essentially ridiculous. I have literally made friends through the vehicle of the Daily Bailey, and I truly feel that in allowing me to test the waters as a writer, blogging has provided me with opportunities which have led me to new places which have landed me on barstools having conversations with all of you. Whether I was tapping out responses to your comments on my phone or passing along a business card to a complete stranger, the Daily Bailey has wholeheartedly connected me to fascinating, loving, funny, thoughtful people who have gotten me through very difficult times.

So on this anniversary day in my life, let me raise this here post to YOU.

So much love and then more love and then guess what more love.

And not least of all, we raise this post to my dear sweet mama, a woman who shares her initials with the Dailey Bailey and who once said, “Bails, I think you should start a blog.” What a smart woman. Love you, Mom. Xoxo

Life, March 2019.

 

Life, March 2019.

 

Here's what it looks like:

 

An eos egg sits beneath my PC monitor at the office. I smear it over my lips about eight times a day.

 

I've discovered that several magazines are free in a virtual reading format via the LAPL website. I've been enjoying Esquire and O and New York and Seventeen (for memories) and even HGTV magazine when I am in a good place to not get jealous of all the beautifully decorated bedrooms and living spaces.

 

My babiest nephew has curly hair and it makes every picture texted to me that much more amazing and irresistible.

 

As of last night -- and please be mindful this boycott may be lifted in a matter of hours -- I am taking a break from the Amazon Prime show Homecoming, because it makes my heart pound and adds to my general tendency toward nervousness. But it's so good. Shea Whigham's performance is particularly great.

 

I spent yesterday's lunch break reading the first half of a Baby-Sitter's Club novel. I love that I can speed read through it because when I see the characters' names I don't need to reorient myself to who they are: Kristy tomboy, Mary Anne shy, Dawn hippie, Stacey sophisticate, Claudia artist, Mallory bookworm, Jessi dancer. Boom; takes no thinking at all, these are deeply grooved pathways in my brain. These are the sisters who were birthed in the 80s and waited until the late 90s to meet me. They gave me agency and confidence to provide childcare beyond simply getting my brother ready for school, kept me company on road trips. Mama worked at the library, and after school I would comb carefully across the Sitters' shelves, hoping to see the next number in the series not checked out, as I was committed to reading their story in order, following their journey as an honorary member, a baby babysitter in Colorado taking tips from headquarters in Stoneybrook, Connecticut.

 

My friend told me I should throw a party for a milestone in my life and it feels a little egocentric, but I think it's an opportunity to surround myself with people who support me and reboost that spark inside me. Plus she said she's buying cake so how I can I back out?

 

I am trying to spend more time at home, and I am trying to work on one cross stitch project at a time until it is completed, Missy.

 

I'm also working on speaking to myself in kinder tones than this stern Missy language.

 

I wear jewelry nearly every day. This is new. My fidgeting with it and taking it off while at stoplights is not as new.

 

In general anxiety has been my go to fragrance I've been wearing, but I've come so far in recognizing it, handling it, truly believing that it will disappear in time. I've been drinking water without being told by Alex or the internet or Dr. Oz.

 

Still no library fines in several weeks! I am crushing it!

 

As of, well, yesterday, I am trying to resist the knee-jerk habit of buying and eating chips. I think I can ignore them for a while and find solace in cheese and beets and other, less carb-dense-salt-rich-oil-soaked items of nourishment. OK fine maybe cheese is not great for you but this is one step I'm taking, People. We'll revisit cheese later.

 

Sorry. That "People" talk was basically Missy language. My apologies. It must be the chip withdrawal.

 

I don't check my texts and Instagram as frequently as usual and it really makes a marked difference on my levels of agitation, impatience, and discontent.

 

And that's basically my life right now. It's interesting how it changes all the time, separates into seasons that we don't even notice until we've switched into a new one. At present my season is drizzling worry, but the winds blowing in are so peaceful. So very so. Self-esteem is budding out the ends of twigs and my allergies are going crazy but I don't even care because Peace. Calm. Breath. Bright threads of lime are stemming up into flowers of azure across eggshell canvases, while Max snoozes in the purple comforter meadow across our bed. I bring my neon pink scarf with me in case there is a chill, but it remains tucked in my bag, as the days are warm. But why not carry a little color, just in case?

 

Be well, my friends. Feed that anxiety water; she doesn't thrive in humid spaces. Close your eyes and feel your cheekbones soften. Flip through a magazine and admire the thousand-dollar fashions. Snuggle the cat and read an old book; serve yourself memories, and believe in the future.

 

Xox

A meditation/devotion/blessing thingy for your day

 

To my tired children,

 

Rest will catch you, somewhere soon. You’ll be able to lie back in the netting of her hammock and let your weight float on air. It will be a miracle of density and physics, meanwhile it’s a weird miracle all its own that your body recognizes fatigue to signal you toward sleep. Hold on. Breathe for a moment, sip some water, make another cup of coffee. I won’t tell anyone.

***

To my babies who feel stuck,

You’ll be freed from this stall, though it feels now that confinement is your permanent lot. You won’t be in this state forever; absolutely something will change course. Jobs and relationship status and attitude and investment and money situations change all the time. They follow their own individual schedule, and we’ll always have the calendars of others to make things feel more unfair. But you’re on your way. Find one thing today that sets you free, even for a moment. Hold it. Bless it. Invite it back tomorrow. Chances are she’ll show up again.

***

To my friends who can’t keep up,

Your pace is just fine, honey. The deadlines don’t define you, the rat race doesn’t rule you. Priorities will rise to the surface. You’ll skim your ability across the smaller worries underneath, and with finesse you’ll meet the immediate. Your kids won’t judge what you pick and choose, as long as you choose affection and exceptional parental obsession with those tiny tots you are bringing up. Let them bring you up, too. Let their tiny fingers with swollen knuckles pet your head. Drink in their tiny voices that tell a story and get distracted a hundred times before the finish. Hold their tiny torsos in your lap and feel those tiny hearts beat against their chest. Feel that the tiny are mighty, and let the future strengthen you.

***

To my peeps married to anxiety,

Whoops, when did that wedding take place, right? Nevertheless, it sure feels like we’re locked into a contract now, and further it feels like a bad dream because we never would have picked such a relentless, unloving partner for our better-deserving self. You know what, though, babe? That partner is just kind of here, swirling amongst us, tucking into the corners of our handbag and the creases of our overcoat. And you know what else? You’ve lived with that partner for a thousand years, and you’ve always, always survived. When you can’t get the irrational fears to abate, can’t get the worry loop to desist, try the next step: breathe in and around and through it. Look out, look up from the ever-shrinking corner you’ve painted yourself into. Don't punish yourself for ending up here. Simply hold open your palms, to make it easier to catch Grace.

***

To my loves who are content,

Praise the good Lord in Heaven above that you are at peace, my sweet. Those around you who struggle are jealous of this stillness, but goodness do they need you to keep close. Be gentle as you come near. Set down the tea in front of them, then find a reason to fuss elsewhere in the home. Give them time to approach the mug; though they feel the warmth, they still fear the steam may burn. Use your calm, your joy, your strength, to infuse the space around them with safety. Open the windows to let pressure air itself out. You may want your charge to speak, to cry, to release in a way that proves to you they’ll be OK. They just need you, Love. Be there. Refill the tea, squeeze a shoulder, then go fuss. Come back with socks, tattered copies of Calvin & Hobbes, pizza. Always pizza. Let the cheesy triangles work their magic, let their goo melt into the soul. You are a light without a dimmer setting. Your brightness only builds.

***

Wherever you are is OK. Your mission is to believe it.

Xox

What's New -- a copycat post -- since I've been out for a minute

 

I had lunch with Jill on Sunday, we ate giant burritos -- we each took half of our own home, come to think of it maybe we should have shared? But she gets the green salsa on top, myself the red, she the go to my stop.

 

She really is the go to my stop on frequent occasion. I text her when I'm feeling blue, anxious, questioning life as a writer.

 

"Time to move," she says, and I valiantly slouch toward the kitchen for water, bravely strap on my tennies and go for a walk.

 

Jill is my mental health champion, my cat sticker supplier, the doodle captain of Instagram. She is one of my favorite people I found on the Internet.

 

During our burrito meeting this weekend we covered our usual topics -- books, Netflix, Dolly & Max. We talked about what kind of writing we're doing lately, and I told her I haven't actually blogged in months, definitely the longest stretch since I started nearly 10 years ago.

 

Yesterday she posted this, and it made me feel brave to post something similar.

 

So here we go:

 

I find myself at the point in adult life when people ask me what's new, and I don't really know how to answer.

 

But like any good writer/thinker/good college tryer, you can always come up with an answer if you sit with the question long enough, right?

 

So let me sit here for a minute, and I'll think of what is actually new.

 

...

 

I have been excellently out of character recently in the fact that I actually return library books on time.

 

It's true.

 

One, that historically I have paid fines bigger than a breadbox to public libraries across the contiguous United States, so I do believe that I am singlehandedly keeping the institution alive.

 

And two, that I've been really good about getting my titles back in that book drop at their drop deadline.

 

Twice this year, I've devoted my lunch break to speed reading the second half of a middle grade novel that's due back that day. If I've sampled a book and feel I can move on without completing it, then I'll return it before its due date. But if I've invested emotionally in the content, I've carved out space to finish volumes that are important to me, and I feel like that's a valid gift I can give myself.

 

(By the way, how do you all feel about not finishing books that you start? I have abandoned HUNDREDS of titles over the years, because for me it's not something I lose sleep over. But I know that others feel differently.)

 

RELATIVELY, my bedroom has been cleaner than usual.

 

My car? Still a transportable disaster.

 

But my bedroom has gotten better. I've downsized a lot of the stuff I have -- including, yes, books -- and I tidy just a bit more often than I used to. And I frequently find that it doesn't take super long to get it looking better, which is new. It used to always be an overwhelming event to clean my room. Now it's only dramatic on occasion.

 

I bought plane tickets to Kansas City.

 

I've decided to go to my friend Tommy's wedding in the spring and to a Mark Knopfler show with my dad in the summer, despite my distaste for aviation travel.

 

Very excited to squish nephews and drink Boulevard Wheat and eat burnt ends and dance with my favorite wedding date.

 

AND see one of my all-time favorite musicians with one of my all-time favorite humans. So ready. But not quite ready. Letting the excitement build contributes to the final concert experience.

 

Ready.

 

Not quite.

 

(Ready.)

 

The Forever 21 sale page is my new Kryptonite.

 

Guys.

 

The faux gemstone rings. The lint rollers with cartoon dinosaurs on them. The delicate hexagon necklace and the knock-off triangle necklace like the one Ben gave Felicity!

 

And the bidding starts at 50 cents.

 

There are so many dollar and three dollar items on there, it's ridiculous. So you understand my status as repeat customer.

 

I have avoided purchasing all the concert tickets that I want.

 

I really have. I've purchased a few. For others I've made it as far as the select your seat ticketing page.

 

But I've retracted my finger from clicking "complete purchase" because, I don't know, I guess I have some self control. Not a lot, but a bit. Un peu.

 

Since (no one) asked, here are some of the shows I want to see but have not bought tickets for:

 

Lauren Daigle, Weird Al, Craig Ferguson, Hillsong, Mandolin Orange, Dido...

 

And the ones that have come and gone that I missed but hey look I'm still here:

 

Robyn, Patty Griffin.

 

Also my friend Caleb took me to see MØ and it was amazing, a top 10 all-time show for me.

 

My shoe collection is shrinking, and my sweater collection is blooming.

 

It's true.

 

I keep looking at shoes in my closet, wearing them (or not), and thinking, "Why?"

 

I've decided I'll be good with a pair of Converse, flip flops, wedges, work flats, and running shoes the end. I just don't want to be burdened with foot decorators. I have a hard enough time matching outfits and accessories, and my taste is too loud and I think I'm learning that red glitter pumps may identify me as a Kansan, but they don't exactly go with anything. Especially if I'm wearing purple and yellow and silver already. Which I am.

 

Sweaters on the other hand, I'm building a whole tulip garden of knit jewel tones in my closet.

 

I have grape. I have maroon with gold dots. I have blue. I have pink. I have it all, and with the help of my $3 Forever 21 triangle necklace, I am on my way to becoming Felicity.

 

*One of my favorite quotes from the show is when her roommate, Meghan, compares Felicity's life to watching Little House on the Prairie, "only with more sweaters." And if ever there was an insulting description to live up to, I think I'd want it to be that.

 

Because if I could be kind and speak in hushed tones and look always beautiful even in a chunky turtleneck, then I wouldn't be insulted at all.

 

***

 

LOOK AT THAT GUYS I JUST WROTE A BLOG POST. Now to hit "Publish," because it's cheaper than the "Complete Purchase" button.

 

Xox, I've missed you guys.