Recently someone told me that 42 is the most perfect number in the galaxy, The Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything. Here I was feeling all ancient sauce and then that gets dropped on me, kinda gives a number a whole new meaning when you look at it from that perspective. Ok then, apparently I have some serious shit to live up to.

It is no lie that the cobwebs have been growing on this here space. So much so, I have questioned as to why I continue to keep it. You’re probably thinking, “And of course, she resurrects it on her fucking birthday”. I know what this looks like, deal with it. Truth be told is this has fallen wayside to life. Like, actual LIFE. Everyone is talking about 2016 and what a raging shit show it has become. It truly has in many painful ways that I will not list here. No need to keep scratching an already broken record. But even then, I wish I could share in the sentiment entirely, but 2016 and most of 41 has been one of the most emotionally rewarding years of my life.

Moving back to San Diego really has done wonders for me, it was like reuniting with a lost love that you didn’t value enough and got a second chance to grow with again. I came back and fell into her sometimes too warm embrace, to be reminded of her grace and extension of opportunity, a place that I took for granted for so long. Every time I bear witness to her orchid colored sunsets, I just stop myself and let it serve as a reminder to be a little more grateful I get to revel in her once more.

It’s hard to look in the mirror and realize that the person staring back at you is so far removed from who she really should and could be. This was me and at the push, encouragement and support of some of the best people I have ever had the privilege to know, I decided it was time to do the work. We are always in a constant state of learning and growth and I never really realized just how true that was until I started peeling off the band aids to let the wounds dry out.

I’ve created beautiful, painfully cathartic artwork. The kind I look at and want to weep because I know the place it came from. Hell, the kind I wept over while making. This is something I have never experienced before: Not just making for the sake of making but using it as a real and very visceral outlet.

I’ve removed cinder blocks from my ankles in the form of toxic relationships with people. It’s so much easier to swim when you’re not tied to the bottom of the sea.

I confronted my fears, met, wept with and allowed myself to forgive someone who hurt me. I came at it from a place of truth, love, no expectations and exposed every fragment of my vulnerabilities to them. I am so glad I did because this process alone has been key in helping me see and understand more about myself than I thought I was capable of. And shit, I got one of my best friends back in the process.

I’m learning to establish boundaries, to not allow my feelings to be dismissed, to speak up and not hang on to things that made me feel wrong or that I don’t matter. The lid is so far off it makes me wonder why I didn’t do this sooner?

I stopped hiding behind my hair and cut the front of it right the fuck off. Like my friend Ginny said, “Welcome to THIS FACE motherfuckers”. It’s scary to alter one’s self especially when you’ve relied on a safe bet for a really long time. Most people change the outside in hopes of reinvention and oddly enough, I went the opposite direction: worked on the internality and changed the outside to reflect what was in there, somewhere. And no, I still don’t recognize myself in the mirror when I pass it but I’lll get there.

I’m working towards getting my house stronger, firmer and carrying myself with confidence. For reals. No fronts.

I know this sounds like a bunch of happy, hippie malarkey but honestly it hasn’t been that way. I have cried amounts that can fill a mason jar and they’ve all been the best of tears because they came from a place of vulnerability, honesty, support and love. I have been granted some of the most rewarding of human experiences with those who surround me. I just had to be open enough to listen and see. And fuck am I seeing…. with eyes that just got some damn lasik after being pretty damn blind.

It’s been hard and painful, but liberating and fucking incredible. I go into 42 with a lot of hope, strength and a lot of broken down walls. I’m pretty fucking proud of myself.

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