My sincerest apologies for the delay with this blog post, it’s been a minute! Full disclosure, I’ve been in a creative rut and now I’m mostly writing this because I’m procrastinating with putting the clean sheets and duvet cover back on my bed. Wrestling myself inside my duvet cover to tie the little corner-tie thingies is on the list of things I do alone that remind me you need people and can’t do it all alone. All of the furniture in my apartment is proof that I do just fine navigating chaos on my own, fully ignoring the assembly manual with two-person stick figures next to the single stick figure with a big X through it.

What’s changed in my life in the last several weeks- everything. I’m a brand new woman, fully vaccinated, unwrapping myself out of my 2020 cocoon to a soundtrack fit for a tampon commercial. I took a solo vacation to Miami, moved apartments and redesigned my space yet again, my sweet puppy lost his balls and I started a new job- a job that I hope will be my last in tech, but that’s what I said the last time.

In the spirit of de-cocooning, I’m on a dating app (still). If my whole body could cringe from saying a single sentence, that one would do the trick. I have sea-level expectations about the whole thing but if ya’ ask me, I’m making an admirable effort to stay open minded. 

After my first vaccine dose a few weeks ago, I took advantage of time off before starting my new job and skipped off to Miami for a few days of eating lavishly and entering into phase one of sexy summer tanlines. I was laying on the hotel balcony one night and got a dating app message I was just the right amount of bored to respond to. (Clearly, I’m burning with enthusiasm for app dating.) This guy’s opening line was, “Do you know what makes you happy and what is that thing?” I’m good for a deep talk here and there, but that opener… woah, buddy, get that out in your Talkspace app first. 

I appreciated the question, it just didn’t work with my Miami-Marina vibe. You can’t just open with that while I’m on the balcony of my luxury hotel in my fluffy hotel robe, judging people below from my ivory tower. I thought about it for a minute and came up with this reply: To be happy, I need people, loud colors and to be barefoot.

I once had to fake my way through leading a meditation session and I just repeated all the stuff I heard said to me in other guided meditations- “Allow yourself to feel the earth, hug that sweet sweet earth with your feet and welcome the earth’s love and protection. Feel the ground in your toes and know you are safe. Ohmmmmmakase.” There’s a powerful truth to that earth-on-your-feet bit, and there’s also nothing safe about the stilettos I torture my poor feet with. Growing up, my mom would say I walked like a baby elephant, stomping around with intention and ruining her hardwood floors. Crunchy meditation cliches aside, I think I was just fighting to feel the earth and make a few cracks around my happiness barrier.

The first time I felt like I was living for myself in my adult life was sitting on the beach in Byron Bay, barefoot, convinced I’d never be able to scrub the beach off the bottoms of my feet and feeling very happy about that. I own soap and my feet are clean now, promise. But stripping myself of every layer I wrapped my identity in, right down to skin and sand- that was a freeing joy I didn’t know I needed. I almost cancelled this trip to Florida four times, because Florida. As soon as I dug my winter-white feet into the sand, it could have been any sand. The Byron nostalgia shot into my body from my feet and I felt high. 

I’ve mastered the elegant art of loving my own company, but traveling solo reminded me how much I’ve converted from introvert to extrovert during the last year. Even standing in a sunny screensaver, I wanted my people. I wanted to share my food and share every color and take less photos because sharing it would mean I’d just be enjoying it all with my eyes and heart without needing to run and show someone, in case they’d never believe my hype.

Leo and I are back in Brooklyn, settled into our new home- our first big girl apartment, a true one bedroom with in-unit washer and dryer and a balcony for my little guy! Don’t ask me where I keep my tiaras in this place, but it’s a handsome level of comfort. I filled my new space with a few loud colors and fluffy rugs for my bare feet, and more plates than a single person needs- I’ll be barefoot, in my kitchen (save your sexist jokes), entertaining my beloved people and feeding my happiness the way it’s taken me too many years to learn.