I am a storyteller.

I am a storyteller. 

“What’s up with a pretty girl like you being single?” he asked in a drunken slur.

“Umm, idk! You know men these days!” I replied four vodka sodas deep, “just not ready for a boyfriend I suppose.”

After a brief make out sesh at the bar before I realized I wasn’t in college and sloppy make outs aren’t really my thing anymore, I called myself an Uber.

“How was your night?” Taj with a 4.87 Uber driver rating asked me.

“Meh, it was ok,” *deletes drunk text to ex boyfriend*

“You’re going home awfully early! The night’s just starting for some people.”

I hit the side button on my iPhone. The screen lights up to read 12:15am. He’s not wrong.

I fumble with my keys before getting to my apartment. With 6% battery, I receive a FaceTime call from an ex (well, sort of ex). My finger hits the red button. I have season 5 of 90210 to finish, I don’t want to FaceTime.

I strip down to just a bra and underwear and hop into bed. I’m too lazy to turn the heat on, so I pull another blanket over my naked body.

“Hey, I miss you. What are you up to?” My phone lights up. Oh, hey, random bar guest that I briefly dated. Haven’t heard from you in a few months. I plug my phone into the charger and shut my laptop.

I stare at the ceiling. I don’t know if it’s the Tito’s keeping me awake or if it’s something else. I switch a Podcast on, Sleepy Time. It’s supposed to help you fall asleep.

Eyes blink. The ceiling lies ahead.

I pull out my brown leather journal and open to a bank page. “This is Why I’m Single” I scribble at the top of the page.

I continue to write. Bullet note-ing the shit out of why I’m single. Pathetic? Maybe. I’ve already started the list in my head, so writing it out isn’t much different. Here was the start of my list:

  • I’m busy.
  • I’m tired.
  • I’m not pretty enough. Stfu.
  • I’m overly ambitious for most alpha males.
  • I don’t have time.
  • I don’t feel like dating.

The list continued, basically listing every reason under the sun that you could think of. For about 20 minutes, I beat around the bush with excuses until the vodka sodas caught up with me and I started to nod off.

The next morning I opened my journal to that page. Rolling my eyes at my pathetic-ness I opened my phone and realized that I had also drunkenly deleted dating apps.

I nearly ripped the page from my journal and tossed it in the trash at second-hand embarrassment from my sober to drunk self. The list started back at me, why don’t you just admit the real reason?

For months I have been pushing away men who have shown interest, dropping the ball on Bumble dates, not feeling sexually attracted to people that used to spark my interest.

I’m just not, well, interested.

No, you’re just not ready.

It’s a sign of weakness to admit when you’re just simply not ready to do something. Whether it’s moving to a new city, moving careers, or moving on from a previous relationship. Society always expects you to be ready to take the leap.

Do I have guys lining up to be my boyfriend? No, lolz. Absolutely not. Not my point, though. My point is that, yeah, I do feel sorta weird having another guy in my bed. I do have trouble connecting with other men so I avoid first dates and “grabbing coffee” like the plague. Is shutting any opportunity a sad attempt at dealing with my past? Maybe. I’m not sure. All I know is that I’m just not ready. And I should be OK with that.

I lost myself for a while, trying to get over everything and attempt to piece together everything that had happened. And frankly, I’m still working on it. Slowly, but surely.

The next statement is about to come straight from the single white girl anthem song but the fact of the matter is, I’m working on myself. Working on things that I have control of. My blog, my book, my health, my sanity, my future. Things that have remained a healthy constant the past several years of my life.

A couple of months ago, I had a news outlet reach out to me asking me to publish my story. They wanted to interview me about it and feature it in a series of articles they had been working on.

I wasn’t ready. I politely declined. 

Was I scared? No. Nervous? Not really. I don’t have any other explanation for it other than the fact that I just simply was not ready. I wasn’t ready to rehash it. I wasn’t ready to talk about it again. I wasn’t ready to admit to myself and to others that I’m still damaged from it.

Damaged.

This blog was born out of the pure fact that writing helps me understand things my brain can’t quite figure out. For months I have been beating down this idea of feeling “damaged” from my past. Forcing myself to pretend that I’m over everything, that every moment of sadness isn’t valid. I fill my time with 70 hour work weeks, random guys, and night’s out with friends, barely giving myself anytime to breathe. To write. To understand my feelings and validate them on my own terms.

I joke with my friends often and tell them I’m going on a “30 Day Dude Cleanse.” It never lasts long, as I’ve found myself using guys as a distraction from the fact that I, Beth Cormack, might be a slight emotionally damaged. Who, me? Damaged? Nahhh.

I don’t know the answer to it all. I know “time heals all” blah blah blah, and that’s something I’ve been trying to do. Just giving it time. Staying busy. Letting the days pass by and knowing that each day, a piece of my past is less relevant than the day before. Assuring myself that there are bigger and better things out there for myself. These things I know and I understand.

But, is it better to pretend the past never happened or to acknowledge it and embrace the feelings that come along with it? Or is there even a right answer to that question?

I don’t know.

Relationships have always been difficult for me. Sure, I “date” people, but usually don’t let it continue beyond just that.

We all have experiences in our life that have influenced the way that we are today. While some people are more comfortable with sharing these things, I am not.  Sounds funny coming from the girl who practically broadcasts her life on a blog, however, there are anecdotes about my life that I keep to myself — ones that I’m not sure will ever even make it into this blog. Anecdotes that help people understand why I am the way I am.

There are a select few people who know these stories. I have been molding this circle of people who know these things my entire life. It’s been working. I have a perfectly constructed “circle of trust,” if you will.

Well, had.

When I was thinking to myself, why did this relationship leave such a strong ripple effect? The answer was hard to come by at first. In retrospect, it was never a healthy relationship. While there were many glimmers of happiness, they were only temporary, glimmers that were to be whisked away by the wind at any moment.

I lost myself.

I started recalling memories of long nights lying next to each other in bed, pillow talking until the sky turned orange. Drives down the highway with my hanging out of the window and his hand relaxing on my leg.

I realized something.

I let him in. I let him in the close circle that is so hard to break through. My circle, once so tight knit and carefully constructed is now a strangely reconfigured shape I can’t ever mold back into what it once was. My circle is damaged.

Damaged.

I’ve been working on refocusing my mind to things I do care about. People who make me better rather than drag me down. I haven’t been putting too much pressure on myself to go on first dates I don’t feel like going on. I haven’t been blaming myself for feeling “damaged” at times, because, yeah, life is debilitating and damaging at times.

My perfect, carefully constructed circle is not what it once was. By choice, I let somebody else in on the stories of my past; stories that I usually use as a part of my shield of self-protection and I can’t take it back. He knows my stories, and I wish he didn’t. He knows me. And at times, I wonder if I ever knew him.

That’s the scariest part.

I am a storyteller.

These are stories I do not tell. 

Empty pizza boxes & stained coffee mugs.

This time was different. 

***

The giant tower stood before me. “WELCOME, UMASS CLASS OF 2015” the banner read in bold crimson letters. 15th floor. Corner room. A lofted bed. My mother’s fight to hold back her tears. We had already unloaded my father’s truck of Rubbermaid plastic drawers, a $12.99 bright blue desk lamp from Target, over a hundred photos of my high school friends and a Jersey Shore poster. A new chapter.

***

My items were scattered around my living room. Socks and underwear tied in a plastic bag sitting next to my hiking boots and cork wedges. “I’m going to put your passport in this pocket,” my mom said. 2 large suitcases and a carry-on. A blank journal and a journey with unwritten adventures. Mom lifted her sunglasses from her eyes at the airport, “You know you have to come home at some point. Don’t fall in love and leave me for Cape Town forever.” Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. Love you. 

***

Blue and red flashing lights filled my rear-view. 3am. 5 more hours on the road. “Why are you on this level? Do you realize how dangerous this is? What is in the back of your van?” Um, a bed and some clothes. “Next time, don’t drive on the compact car level of the George Washington bridge when you’re a large U-Haul van.” Sorry, officer.

I looked to my right as my mom dozed back off. I peaked out the window and looked at the sky. Life as I knew it was currently packed away in black trash bags and a saran wrapped mattress in the back of a 10′ van driving atop a bridge we weren’t supposed to be on.

We reached our destination just as the sun started to rise. An unfamiliar territory painted with light pinks and oranges on the horizon and one too many Starbucks. My new life. My new life was…here. Here. Here for as long as I wanted it to be here.

***

I’ve grown accustomed to moving. “Home” has taken on a new meaning ever since my parents sold my childhood home. To me, home used to mean the tangible aspects of a house. The familiar stain on the carpet that mom could never seem to wash out. The seconds it took for the upstairs shower to warm up. The stack of DVDs collecting dust you promised your parents you’d watch all of the time. You know, the little things that could just be expected. They were just, well, there.

I recently left the place that I’ve called “home” in DC the past 2.5 years (has it really been that long?). I moved roughly a 6 minute walk away so you’re probably like why you gotta be so emotional???

I didn’t expect to be either.

The morning my application went through I was practically skipping around town. “I’m going to THRIVE in my own bachelorette pad!!!” I texted all of my friends. I had done the whole roommate thing for the past 6 or so years of my life and while I’ve lived with some of the best (and worst) girls of my life, I’m just at a point in my life where I’m just like, over it. Just ready to be on my own. Ya feel me?

The next thing I knew I was staring at my empty bedroom in Dorchester House fighting back unexpected tears. This was my home. But, like, not the kind of home I used to call home. The kind of home that I made for myself. This apartment has seen every facet of my life since I moved here — the best moments and the worst.

Empty pizza boxes, stained coffee mugs & a broken blind that never got fixed. New friends, random hookups & people who didn’t turn out to be who I wanted them to be. Stacks of training manuals from restaurant jobs and freelance contracts. Times of pure joy jumping on my bed in a sports bra and plaid pajama shorts following a grad school acceptance and times of tear-soaked pillow cases following a string of lies and vulnerability.

Late nights sitting cross-legged in my bed, candles lit with a journal and pen in hand. Early mornings of pinks and orange painted sunrises through my window. Afternoons of sitting at the dining room table hitting “submit application” hundreds of times.

It’s been a journey with a familiar narrative to some.

A young twenty-something attempting to navigate through messy twists and turns, trying to please everyone by making all the right choices yet not really knowing if the right choices for those other people are the right choices for yourself. Blissfully lost. Frustrated yet hopeful. Tired yet resilient. 

Wordy, but familiar. Right?

***

My friend and I packed the UHaul van* last Thursday evening not knowing how much shit I actually had (isn’t that how it always works?) and drove approx 2 blocks to my new home (lolz). Two large iced coffess, one free pizza and many ‘OMFG my back hurts’ later, we finally finished the moving process at 2am. Did I mention how fabulous my friends are?

Shit was everywhere, the couch was in pieces scattered across my living room and my new kitchen was blocked by an influx of trash bags filled with more of my random shit. I knocked out on my bare mattress shortly after and rolled out of bed the next morning for work.

Welp, I was moved in. I had a new home and I don’t have a roommate. Weird. 

*This was an extremely abridged version of what actually happened. The studio I thought I was moving into all month got ripped from under me the afternoon before Thanksgiving as I was on my way to drop off my signed lease and I didn’t find an alternative until 3 days before I had to be out of my old apartment. LOL LIFE MAN

***

One week later, my couch is assembled and the place is slowly coming together. I honestly haven’t had much time to be all ~zen~ and reflect on my new bachelorette pad, but I think that time will come when all of the trash bags of random shit are put in their proper places. For the time being, I’ve been praising the dishwasher and food disposal in my sink. I always told myself the day that I have those two things in my apartment is the day I know I’ve made it.

I’m excited to see what memories this place will bring. New friends & f*ckboys; empty pizza boxes & stained coffee mugs. The usual, but different.

Well, hopefully no f*ckboys this time around.

Cheers to new adventures! Thanks to everyone who have made the past 2.5 years in DC worth hanging around for. Y’all are invited to my Christmas/house warming party I accidentally planned the night before all of my final papers are due. #Blessed.

A millennial’s unsolicited career advice.

I feel like I give unsolicited advice all the time. Like, something will happen to me and I’m like YO THIS WORKED FOR ME ONE TIME THIS SHOULD BE ADDED TO THE CONSTITUTION OR SOMETHING. Most of the time I don’t really know what I’m talking about but I just go with it because I’m damn good at pretending.

Eh, whatever.

So, I’m about to give some unsolicited advice again. Because, I can.

This post is for people who are like me: sorta broke (but ~woke~), sorta lost, and sorta hate using the term “adulting” because you seem to be so damn bad at it. Am I making enough money? Is this the right career move? When’s the last time I got my teeth cleaned? Sh*t rent was due yesterday. I’m broke, but wanna go to Sweetgreen? I only made out with that one dude last night, right? Why did I save a number in my phone as “Justin Tall Blue Shirt?” <—tru story

Grad school is about to begin so on paper, yes, I do have my shit together. But like, it still feels like I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Ya feel me? It’s a weird age to be at. 24. Old enough to be considered a “young professional” but not quite old enough to know how the hell people afford a down payment on a home. Falling in between entry and mid-level positions. Might have 2 years of experience, but not 5+. Making decisions with the mindset that “nothing is permanent” yet wondering when you’ll be satisfied enough to make something permanent .

I’m in yet another transition phase. But I feel like I’m always in a goddamn transition phase!!! My life seems to be one big stupid transition!!

I sorta like it though tbh.

Currently, I’m in search for a job that is conducive to my grad school schedule and is the “best next step.” If you ask my mom, she’ll tell you my top priority is a job with benefits, PTO, and a 401k (love ya mom!), which is the “normal” thing to search for, right? Ideally, yes.

I’ll be honest. I’ve been totally rebelling against the “normal” shit to do since the moment I decided to pack my life and move away without a job. I think you already knew that though. The opportunities have been great and moving to this city has been by far the best decision I could’ve made for myself. But now, life is different.

I’m at yet another point where I have to make a big decision. However, my schedule is no longer ~go with the flow~. There’s class. There’s a big re-brand on my blog I promised myself I’d upkeep. There’s a freelance business I’m trying to launch. There’s graduate fellowships and 9-5s to apply to. There’s shit. A lot of shit.

When the hell are you going to stop talking about yourself and give your silly unsolicited advice?

Sorry, sorry. I tend to rant. Again, you prob already knew that though.

So, like I said, I’m back as a free agent in the job world. Unfortunately, I’m no #TB12 so I don’t have people lining up tryna get me on their team. Someday, Beth. Someday. Somehow, I have to make it seem like I’m #TB12 amongst a bunch of Peyton Mannings.

Challenge accepted.

Being totally candid: I HATE COVER LETTERS. Like, ooooooomg do I detest them with a burning passion so deep I can practically feel the flames beneath my fingers as I type. Ok, dramatic. But really, I hate them.

I like writing fun shit. I like using profane words as I please and venting about my daily struggles to you beautiful people. I like wandering around the city, finding the next best coffee shop with overpriced cappuccinos, sitting my ass down in a chair close to an outlet and just writing. It’s what I’m good at.

Companies don’t care about my personal problems–shocker!! But, they also claim to want “personality.” They want cover letters, resumes, and LinkedIn profiles that not only prove that you are #TB12 amongst the Mannings, but also ones that provide a breath of fresh creativity and flair that distinguishes you from the rest.

Ok, so you worked at a marketing agency and ran a digital campaign. Cool. So did the next guy. 

I filled out an application for a brand strategy firm works directly with healthcare initiatives and promotes wellness campaigns — sweet! One question was something along the lines of “Write about yourself in 250 words. What makes you unique? Make it interesting!” Ah, perfect. 

Here’s what I wrote:

Hi, I’m Beth. Storyteller, content creator, blogger, and social media lover who lives vicariously through herself. Like every millennial, I love avocado toast, overpriced iced coffee, and Instagram Boomerangs. Unlike every millennial, I’m not afraid to vocalize my ideas, push creative boundaries and take risks.

I have a knack for connecting with people. When bartending, hearing people vent to me about their failed marriages and/or mid-life crises can be a bit much, but in the marketing field, this quality works out in my favor. I like talking to people, and they like talking to me, too.

I believe that we all have a unique story to tell. Combine my ability to take risks, tell stories, and connect with people is perhaps why my 20-year-old brain decided it would be a good idea to start a personal blog in college. Blog About It, a site that once started as a hobby has transformed into a compelling and distinct personal brand that people love to read. To be specific, a tribe of 3.5k people of from all ages, genders, and backgrounds with a consistent readership of over 10k views per month. The whole blog is about yours truly, but the stories still connect to thousands.

Like I said, I have a knack for connecting with people.

Omg stop bragging about yourself Beth. Shush. It’s my JOB to brag in this scenario. Tryna be #TB12 remember?

On top of this prompt, I still needed to submit a cover letter. UGGGGHHH. WHYYYY THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVVERRRR. Ok, sry. #firstworldproblems

We’ve been told time and time again that employers can tell when you send the same generic thing to everyone and just switch up the company name. Guilty as charged.

…but like, it makes it so much easier tho.

I have zero experience in the healthcare industry. Zero. One of the qualifications included having some sort of experience in this field. But I really want this job. Rather the an just writing it off as “WELP, they’re never gunna pick me so f this!!!!” I took a different route.

Let’s tug at the emotional heart strings, shall we? 

After listing my qualifications, skills, accomplishments, experience, blah blah blah I added an additional paragraph at the end.

Healthcare was genuinely never a field I could see myself entering into. My health has always been in check, only heading to the doctor’s for routine check ups. November 2015 was when everything changed. After experiencing months of discomfort, I went to the doctor’s to try and find a solution to the pain I was experiencing. Immediately afterwards, I was quickly and unexpectedly diagnosed as a Type 1 Diabetic. Since then, my interest in pursuing a career in the healthcare industry has significantly increased. I aim to be an advocate and an active participant in the movement towards providing everyone with the healthcare they need.

Boom.

This paragraph is entirely true. Since my diagnosis, I’ve been forced to develop an understanding about the healthcare industry and escape the ignorance towards it. Sorta like politics. 

I may joke about not knowing shit about #adulting, but I do know a thing or two about how f’ed this healthcare industry has become. It only took a few “Oh shit I’m about to be out of medication and my insurance company failed to tell me that my plan no longer supports this brand of insulin so I’m about to be screwed,” type of scenarios for me to understand the complexity and annoying AF industry I’m forced to be a part of on the reg.

Point being, I found a way to connect with this potential employer. I was different in my approach in both writing prompts. I decided to ditch the “normal” boring stuff and hit ’em with some Blog About It type of shit (profanities and ex-boyfriends excluded).

In the past week, I’ve applied to about 20 jobs. With most, being honest, I took the lazy route and pulled the “Marketing Cover Letter” document from my Google Drive and switched up a few words. How many have gotten back to me?

One. That “one” was the company I just described.

Diabetes, you suck usually, but you may have landed me a job! Tysm!!!! 

I feel like I always address the ~haters~ at the end of blog posts saying stuff like, “So, some of you will  read this and think OMFG stop bragging Beth,” followed by a plea to read this from a different perspective. I’m not gunna do that today. Sry.

I won’t apologize for unsolicited advice that I’m not even sure works. Lol.

People may not seem to give a shit about your personal life, especially potential employers. But they do…to some extent. You are, hopefully, far more interesting than overused buzzwords and action verbs. When I started this blog I thought, “nobody’s gunna read this, they don’t care about my problems.” People are nosy AF. They do care. Well, most people.

Like I said in my writing prompt, we all have a unique and compelling story to tell. Sure, we all may be in this weird stage of existing as “young professionals-yet-totally-not-professional” but I think that there’s a lot to extract from that.

You can sorta broke and still be woke (Are you sick of me saying that? Because I’m totally not). You are marketable beyond the bullet points on your resume. Employers should know that. After all, they are hiring you and not the thesaurus you totally used to see how many ways you could say “created” or “developed.” I see you.

You don’t have to have diabetes or a blog (just lol’ed at this part of the sentence idk why) to tell a story. We all have our kinks and hobbies that aren’t “resume worthy” but still can be spun into making you the ~super profesh~ G.O.A.T that you are–or at least gives the illusion that you are. Nobody likes generic or boring…well I definitely don’t.

Ok, done giving my unsolicited advice. Good luck y’all. I’m about to text “Justin Tall Blue Shirt” and ask him on a date. Jk.

 

Inspiring female artists to add to your playlist.

To call myself an “artist” would be a massive stretch. Creative? Yes. Artist? Ehh. If you count off-pitch sing-in-the-shower sessions and my innate ability to doodle the f*ck out of a new notebook, then, yes, maybe I am an artist.

I can’t sing. I simply can’t. I want a phenomenal voice, like really bad. But, I also want my college loans to disappear. We can’t always get what we want. My best voice is found behind the constraints of my laptop saturated beneath my QWERTY keyboard. I’ll leave the singing to the real talent.

This post isn’t about me though – shocker!

Lately, I’ve realized my Spotify has been packed with super amazingly talented women who sing with a purpose, not just to appeal to the masses. Women who are bad ass and deserve praise and recognition for their brilliance.

**I am not a music critic nor am I trying to be with this post. Just fangirling!**

Women who you NEED to add to your music playlist ASAP:

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Photo via Billboard

If you follow me on Snap, you probably hear some song off SZA’s new album Ctrl playing in the background. I’m literally obsessed. Her voice is raspy and distinct – but don’t we all secretly LOVE raspy voices? Like, ugh, lost my voice last night I sound like a man!! *but I secretly want my voice to sound like this all of the time*

“I’m talking a lot of grimy shit, but it’s truth,” she tells PitchforkPREACH GIRL. This “grimy shit” she speaks of has turned into an incredible set of R&B tracks that must be added to your queue.

My faves: Prom, Go Gina, Supermodel, Drew Barrymore (released on an earlier EP)

 

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Photo via unrtd.com

Referred to as a “dark pop” R&B artist, Jennifer Banks brings an interesting edge to the pop world with her latest, The Altar and previous breakthrough album, Goddess. Both album titles connote a “bow down to me” type of attitude, but I love every second of it. It’s not coming from an obnoxious place, it’s coming from a woman who has bared the shitty parts of life, overcame it, and looks to inspire other people by sharing her story.

She tells explains what it means to be a “wounded healer” to Time Magazine, “When you’ve gone through something and you’ve overcome it, you’re able to heal other people. A wounded healer, I think, is a lot more powerful than a healer that has not been wounded.”

Her lyrics promote self-affirmation with a sharp “no fucks given” undertone.  Amazing.

My faves: Fuck with MyselfSomeone New, Gemini Feed

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Photo via Philly.com

Half of the iconic duo Marian Hill, (s/o to Kat for introducing me), Samantha Gongol is possibly the best artist I’ve seen live. If you haven’t heard of them, you probably Shazamed them recently as you watched Apple’s recent iPhone commercial.

Dubbed as the “sexiest band of the year” in 2016, their music is absolute FIRE. I’ve also been told more than once that it’s a common artist to include on a sex playlist. People love to f*ck to this music. No joke.

In an interview with Soul Sisters Podcast, Gongol explained the empowering heat behind the music, “It’s really important that we always write from the perspective of a strong female character,” and noted that bandmate Jeremy Lloyd is “a champion of everything feminism.”

My faves: Down (obviously), I Want You, Got It

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Photo via Pigeons and Planes

This Australian-based “one woman band” plays the guitar, piano, trumpet, loops, sings, AND beat-boxes. Badass. Discovered from a viral YouTube video she recorded in her bedroom back in 2016, Sultana has been selling out shows worldwide ever since.

For this 22-year old woman, music has been her escape since her teenage years…literally. In an interview with Tone Deaf, she explains her nine-month drug induced psychosis from eating pizza laced with magic mushrooms. For these several months, Sultana was unable to pull herself from this psychotic state and lost all sense of reality.

She says music is what saved her. “I went into my room one day and I was just strumming and I realized that I achieved complete peace of mind while I was doing that,” she explains, “I had finally found some quiet so I literally played and played and played and played until I played the pain away, did every single open mic, snuck into every single place to go and play a show, busking, everything.”

My faves: Jungle & Notion

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Photo via Instagram

I knew from the first time I met this gal that she was something special. A strong and unapologetic feminist, Blackwell’s music has a distinct rawness with empowering and soulful undertones. In my recent relationship post I talked about the importance of being an advocate for other women, and she encompasses every aspect of that in her work. You da bomb.

At the ripe age of 21, she’s already killin’ the game with her most recent EP, New EraThe inspiration behind her music can be traced back to her upbringing in Detroit Michigan where she was introduced to the world of Motown Music and Hip Hop.

Blackwell explains that she “plans to use her career to make a difference in the way our society places limitations on girls and even young boys”. She believes that her voice can “move mountains and barriers for her daughters to come.” Keep an eye out for this one, she’s about to make some serious waves in the music industry.

Love you girl! Don’t forget about me when you make it big.

My faves: Commencement & Be Careful Master

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Photo via Into the Urban

I didn’t realize I had been listening to Baraz on repeat until a reader suggested her for this post. When I searched her, I was like AWWW shyt! I already love this gal! 

Baraz brings an captivating mix of electronic, pop, and R&B to the music scene. Falling in love with the sounds of Galiamatias, Baraz started uploading her own music over his electronic instrumentals and uploaded them to Soundcloud. No studio or producers involved. Just a gal who had a dream and wanted to be discovered.

Through Soundcloud, the duo released Baraz’s first EP, Urbana Flora without ever meeting in real life. Technology these days. You’ve probably heard Baraz on her recent hit, Electric featuring another of of my faves, Khalid (if he was a female he’d totally make this list). Her music has also been remixed by several artists including R3hab, Le Youth and Felix Jaehn and she’s currently touring with Coldplay.

My faves: Electric ft. Khalid, Make You Feel, Pretty Thoughts (FKJ Remix)


Thank you everyone for the suggestions! I wanted to include all of them, butttttt I think I might just make this an ongoing thing. Thx for being osm per usual.

Below you’ll find my Spotify playlist including all of the tracks I mentioned above. You’re welcome.

For Blair Blackwell’s music, check out her Soundcloud.

Do something for yourself.

Stress is worse for your body than an entire box of pizza. Legit.

Prolonged periods of stress can lead to the following :

  • Low energy.
  • Headaches.
  • Upset stomach, including diarrhoea, constipation and nausea.
  • Aches, pains, and tense muscles.
  • Chest pain and rapid heartbeat.
  • Insomnia.
  • Frequent colds and infections.
  • Loss of sexual desire and/or ability.

…to name a few.

Not only that, my weight is always higher when I experience high stress and my skin breaks the f out. The freaking worst.

Stress is inevitable. Whether you’re worried about your soggy chicken tenders coming out from the kitchen in a timely manner, or you’ve experienced something far far worse, we are stressful human beings. It’s just who we are.

I’ve been super high stress recently. Dealing with a break up (sort of? still not totally sure how to classify this one), prepping for grad school, working way too much, paying bills, and all the other shit I deal with on the daily adds up to a shit-ton of headaches and self-doubt.

I was up last night starting at the splotches on my ceiling that I never finished painting (#adulting), and started to ask myself when the last time I did something for myself. When’s the last time I put my needs and my interests first? I feel like for the past several months I’ve been so worried about pleasing others that I’ve lost sight of WTF  want to do.

I have list of stuff in Nora (yes, I name my journals), that I want to be doing and haven’t really gotten around to any of it. Most of them are dream and aspirations that will hopefully come with time, but there are some that I can control right now.

Here is part of the list, verbatim:

  • Apply to grad school.
  • Be ~super fit~
  • Write more shit every day.
  • Read more books about race, class, and sex in America.
  • Try to be vegetarian. 2.5 months strong!
  • Yoga once a week.
  • Drink more water and stop dehydrating yourself with coffee. Guilty.

Let’s focus on:

  • Be ~super fit~

I work out 5-6x a week. As a diabetic, exercise is important as it is for everyone, duh but I’ve written time and time again about my existential body image issues and how I’ve never been totally satisfied with where I’m at.

Positive body image is not easy. Like, at all. I don’t think that’s news to anyone.

In college, I completed Kayla Itsines BBG program, because, you know ~tryna be trendy~. TBH that was the best I’ve ever felt about myself. I know it sounds super basic and I’m not saying BBG is some magical potion that transformed my body but…

BBG might be some magical potion that transformed my body. 

I’ve tried to pick it back up time and time again, but I always stop after week 2-3. There’s really no excuse for it, because its legit 28 minutes. I will say the workouts start to get bleh (not bleh as in easy but bleh as in the same shit over and over) after week 4 which makes it hard to stay motivated.

ANYWAYS, for me, seeing results in the gym makes my personal stress diminish significantly. Omg Beth life is so much more than what your body looks like! I know, I know. But, like, that’s just how my brain works.

Technically the program is supposed to start on a Monday, but whatevs. Like I did when I was a wee 21 year old, I’ll be posting updates of me shirtless every couple of weeks to showcase progress (narcissism at its finest!), and hopefully by the end of the 12 weeks I’ll be like, totally, stress-free!!!! (Lol, a girl can dream right?)

I guess my point is that life is one big choice. You choose who to date, where to work, what to put into your body. No wonnnnnnder why life is so goddamn stressful because you always have to choose shit! Sorta sucks but is also sorta cool.

So, for now, I’m choosing to do this. For nobody else but myself.

I cannot express the importance of being your own advocate. Choosing things and people that make you a better person. Stress is inevitable, but not everything in life has to be stressful. What and who you surround yourself with can either send your stress levels through the roof or can act as a breath of fresh air.

Do something for yourself every day. Because if you don’t, nobody else will.

Here’s me freshly rolled out of bed this morning looking super pretty!

IMG_4708IMG_4706

 

 

Let’s talk about it: Pt. 1

Hi everyone,

Again, want to thank you for all of the kind words I have received over the past couple of days and an extra thank you to those who shared your story with me. I received tons of questions/responses via email, Insta, Facebook, etc., which I promise to answer by the end of this week!

I addressed a few responses through here (with permission of the senders) touching on some issues that I think we can all benefit from. I didn’t get to all the points I wanted to address but I will be creating part 2!

Plzzzz excuse the awkwardness – I’m still new to this whole “Vlogging” thing.

So, let’s chat:

Blended thoughts on a burnt relationship.

Hey,

It’s me. Again.

I’m sorry to bother you. I would ask you how you’re doing, but I don’t remember the last time you asked me how I’m doing, so I won’t.

I guess I’ll just tell you how I’m doing instead.

Continue reading Blended thoughts on a burnt relationship.

Words.

The blind in the middle window of my bedroom is broken. I should get it fixed, but I enjoy Mother Nature as an alarm clock.

You cannot hit snooze on the sun. I’ve tried. Mother Naure is relentless.

I am relentless.

Continue reading Words.

home

At times I wonder why I left.

I ask myself if “exploring” could mean a Southie apartment with friends or “taking a chance” has to mean uprooting the familiar and planting yourself in the unknown.

Continue reading home

Soggy chicken tenders.

Every time I get a new job, this is usually how conversations go down:

Me: I got a new job!!!!

Friend: Congrats! Is this job #5?

Me: No!!!!! …..number 4. *mumbles*

Friend: You cray.

Basically, I’m always working. Ask anyone.

Continue reading Soggy chicken tenders.