thoughts on friendships and covid and how our brains are very tired right now
remember the weather?? lol - s3:e13
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project that is sometimes actually daily (like right now — Taryn is emailing those subs every day for 30 days straight). Now's the perfect time to join, so Taryn will hold while you do so by clicking this. She loves u.
the daily taryn season 3: episode 13
e v e r y t h i n g
i s
s o
d a m n
h e a v y
Remember when people used to talk about the weather? Like, actually talk about it — like "wow, it's hot huh" or "gosh what a beautiful day!" "I know right?! perfect beach weather!"
Conversations like that feel surreal, like old movie quotes from some weird 50s film where everyone was beautiful and ignorant and wearing a poodle skirt or bow tie.
Now, we've got unemployment and racial injustice and a global pandemic and mass deaths and political uprisings and war and crime and probably something new happening right now while I type. I hope not, but you know.
Do we talk about that? Or like, how it's... sticky out? Do we talk about George Floyd or the fog? Yemen or the rainbow that went riiiiight over the 405 the other day?
The life stuff is heavy, and too much heavy burns us out in a way that tunes it out, which is bad. The weather stuff is light, and too much light makes us detached, and makes our interactions pointless. It's hard to find a middle ground right now, or at least figure out how to bounce between both without getting whiplash, but the fact that we're talking at all is the start we needed. Badly.
Anyway. It's warm out — I'm gonna try to take Riggs for her 7th walk. I'll bring a mask because pandemic but I'll wear a t-shirt because sweat.
I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too (and tag me!! I wanna see it and melt <3)
make time spent well spent - s3:e12
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project that is sometimes actually daily (like right now — Taryn is emailing those subs every day for 30 days straight). Now's the perfect time to join, so Taryn will hold while you do so by clicking this. She loves u.
the daily taryn season 3: episode 12
We’ve been watching a lot of Queer Eye lately. We basically tore through the whole thing (except for one episode that Cam has to watch without me because it started with some spooky medical story that I know better than to watch). Season 5 coming out last week seemed purposeful — releasing new episodes of 5 perfect gay men running around a city helping people right when the world needed a little hope and joy and happy tears instead of sad ones.
I cried a lot of happy tears last night. It was an episode about a mom who was struggling to spin all the plates at once. She was a new doctor and mom and wife and was having the hardest time doing it all, especially when it came to bonding with her little girl. Looking to empathize, Karamo shared a story of his mom that will stay with me forever. His mom worked late hours to provide for him and their family and would get home most nights just past midnight. Instead of going to sleep, she would sneak into Karamo’s room, wake him up in the middle of the night, and play with him for 10 minutes.
That picture. Of Karamo’s sleepy mom after a full days work. Of Karamo’s sleepy self after being dead asleep. Of the two of them, so happily sat on the floor with the sun down and moon up, playing together. Laughing and smiling and rolling a train around the ground.
Those 10 minutes a day will stay with him forever. Just 10 minutes. And that short story will stay with me forever, too.
surprise stretches time
How can something so short feel so special and memorable and magical and long? It reminds me of something I learned from a neuroscientist in the book, “The Power of Moments” — that surprise stretches time. When you add the element of surprise into a moment or experience, studies show that people consistently report that the event felt 30%+ longer than it really was.
It's true. I drove to my parents house this morning to hang with them for the day. I’ve been overwhelmed and knew that nothing would make me feel better than seeing my parents. I brought Riggy, picked up a coffee on the way, and drove for a very short 45 minutes from LA to Orange County.
My parents always want me to tell them when I’m close, so I texted them when I was 5 minutes away. I drove up the very comfy, very familiar street that I grew up on, got to the top of the hill, and boom. There were my parents, both of them, standing in the driveway smiling and waving as cute as can be.
They didn’t need to do that. I’m 29. Basically 30. Basically 50. And they both have other things to be doing. They both have calls and emails and errands and all the things parents have to do all the time. But they said, “Hey. What can we do to make our daughter feel special?” I don’t know how long they stood out there before I pulled up — could’ve been literally 5 seconds or 5 minutes — but they got up and did it and goofily waved and smiled and came to help me with Riggs and stuff. It was so special.
I was so surprised by such a little thing that even the drive up the driveway felt like 20 minutes. Yes, we have a longish drive-way, but it was definitely only about a 10 second experience. And it meant something to me. It mattered. It was so simple, but I felt so loved and will never, ever forget it.
You don’t need to spend a lot of time to make the time well spent. If you’re going to read a book for 5 minutes, really read it. If you’re going to call a friend, don’t do it while you’re doing chores or running errands — be as present and there as possible, or facetime them instead of call them.
Make little moments big, just by being there. Really, really there. I promise it matters. I promise it lasts.
I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too (and tag me!! I wanna see it and melt <3)
there's something different about you... s3:e11
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project that is sometimes actually daily (like right now — Taryn is emailing those subs every day for 30 days straight). Now's the perfect time to join, so Taryn will hold while you do so by clicking this. She loves u.
the daily taryn season 3: episode 11
Call me crazy, but I feel like you’ve changed, right?
short answer is…
Yes, you have.
long answer is…
Yes, you have. And here’s why I know it.
For the first time since TDT season 3 started, I finally had the time and headspace this morning to sit down at my computer and respond to your responses. If you responded to episode 1, you should’ve already seen a response back from me this morning. If it was after that, I’m still working through them. Hang tight.
I’m responding to emails from… only 2 weeks ago? And I am already shocked at how much has changed in the world since then. That first newsletter I sent was written in what I thought would be the most foreign day-to-day life I’d be experiencing in 2020, but it’s only gotten less familiar and less comfortable since then. Reading your responses has been like some weird form of nostalgia — like I’m reading an old yearbook that was actually logs from just a couple weeks ago.
Everyone’s problems seemed HUGE then — I have to wear a mask! I haven’t seen my friends! I miss pubs and hugs and dog parks! It seemed like life as we knew it gone — it was so deeply different, it just couldn’t get weirder. But now, Jesus. So much has happened. If you’re in a city like me, we’ve gone from don’t go out because virus to, okay, maybe go out with a mask and gloves and a hazmat suit because it’s getting better, to, okay don’t go out the cops are losing their minds and are not on your side, to, okay the virus is like really really getting better now so you could go to the beach now!! to, okay no the riots are getting very intense and there are curfews now — literal curfews that, if you don’t follow, will get you thrown in a cop car or a jail cell or god knows where next.
Every single day feels like a year. Or a decade. It feels like we’re living in the middle of what will definitely turn into movies, books, autobiographies, documentaries, the subject of comedy skits, and the conversation that will end with our kids saying, “I can’t believe you were alive during that…”
Now. You change all the time, in little and big ways. You’re so much more likely to change when things around you change, from the small things (a new haircut makes me feel this new type of way) to the big things (this new house or spouse or whatever makes me feel this type of way). And when things are changing at a global, systemic level, can you imagine the changes you might see in yourself?
That’s what I was thinking about this morning reading your emails from just a couples weeks ago. How much has changed since then. How much I’ve changed. How many little things I’ve noticed — how I treat my body, how I see myself, my desire to learn or create, my needs and needs I thought I had but really don’t have, my feelings towards certain friends or hobbies, my outlook on the world and what matters and what doesn’t.
If you’re like me (which, I know you are — you are emailing me and I see youuu!), then you’ve changed too. In big and small ways. In weird and new ways. And although the world is literally somehow completely frozen and completely burning at the same time, I think it’s worth taking the time to think about what changes you’ve noticed in yourself, and maybe sharing that with someone you love or trust. What's new and good? What’s new and bad? What should I keep changing or change back to or change forward with? In this new world (which will certainly change again — hang on for it), who do you want to be?
So. Hi change. I’ll be honest — you are overwhelming and annoying and sometimes unwelcome, but I’m happy you’re here. I know that, where you are, growth is there too. So, come on in. Join me at the table. Feet off the table, please. You’re not that welcome… yet. Let’s get to know each other and see what good might come out of this.
I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too (and tag me!! I wanna see it and melt <3)
s3:e9 — ignorance is a choice
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project that is sometimes actually daily (like right now — Taryn is emailing those subs every day for 30 days straight). Now's the perfect time to join, so Taryn will hold while you do so by clicking this. She loves u.
the daily taryn season 3: episode 9
To say I’m surprising myself lately is an understatement. I was (and still am, although I’m actively working on it now) fairly ignorant about some very important things.
Disclaimer: I’m going to very quickly talk about myself for a second, but only because I think it will help others relate, NOT because I think my story is important right now.
I’m a white girl who was born into a white affluent family in Orange County. I have a healthy, happy family. When my parents weren’t with us being loving and present and providing for our every need, they were at lucrative full-time jobs, making sure money was never a worry for our family, meaning health and ease and sports and food were never an issue either. My brothers and I had an equally amazing live-in-nanny from when I was 9 months old till about 13 years old — she played with us and taught us and drove us and cooked for us and loved us. She was and is and will always be family. I grew up with people like me all around me. My parents paid for my college. My family is kind and giving — with love and time and money and all the “right” things. We’re happy and healthy and together, and, now I really understand, beyond privileged.
I’ve always known I had privilege (I used to call it “luck” or, during my Christian days, “being blessed”), but my privilege has never been more apparent than it is now. Even after devoting a good part of my life to a religion that, when done right, is all about striving for liberation and helping those who need it. Even after moving to San Fransisco, the wokest of all places, where I started to see real examples of privilege playing out in the world. Where I began to learn about diversity and inclusion and injustice and things that just didn’t add up.
Even after that, I didn’t fully get it. I didn’t understand the state of racism in the world and, as a white privileged woman, what my role was in it. I chose to sit on the bench and jump in when needed, but never take any real responsibility. Outside of the “obvious” moves — donating, reposting things, telling my black friends I was there for them whenever some crazy shit went down in the news — I was quietly choosing ignorance.
how about we stop choosing ignorance
After the last few weeks of blatant hate and malice and disgusting treatment of black people, it feels like the world is waking up. You’re either on the right side of history or the wrong side of history — there is no more excuses for ignorance. Yes, this should’ve been the case every single time something like this happened (which is insane to say — that any uproar like this has happened before and resulted in no change), but it hasn’t. Nothing has changed — due, in large part, to myself and people like me. People (reminder, like me) who want to scream "BLACK LIVES MATTER” from the rooftops, but let fear of saying the wrong thing stop them from doing so. People who support in silence, but are actually letting the louder (often wrong and awful) voices be heard — not the ones who want positive and rightfully earned change. People who think they get it — what racism means and how to be “not racist” — but don’t have a clue. People who choose to not push themselves to truly, truly understand, because they don’t know where or how to start, and it’s kinda easier to be ignorant.
I’ve learned more valuable, important things in the past week than I’ve learned in years, and I’m just beginning this journey. I’ve started to learn about my privilege and how I can use it to help those who have none. I’ve started to learn how to be an actual ally for black people, not just a “of course I hate what’s happening!” ally. I’ve started to learn how the world got this way, and how much of it was because of the silent majority. Me.
I’ve learned how easy it is to learn — it’s almost harder to not learn. That’s the point we’re at now. Information is EVERYWHERE. There are books and lists and lists of books. There are websites and videos and websites full of videos that will help you understand what you need to understand. There are people explaining things to people at every level — from the kids to the adults to whatever the hell we all are in-between.
Most of all, I’ve learned that ignorance is a choice, and in the case of racism (and probably everything else), it is without a doubt the wrong choice.
If you don’t understand something, ask. Look stupid. Get it wrong (which I’ve done so much already — thanks to all who are helping me learn). If you don’t have someone to ask, google things. Google everything. Then ask yourself why you don’t have someone to ask. If you feel better about remaining in the dark, learn why that is, then learn how to overcome that.
Maybe you can’t march in protest. Maybe you can’t donate money. Maybe you can’t call all the senators and send all the emails. Whatever your reasons, don’t let that stop you from doing what you CAN do. You can learn. You can get educated. In fact, if you’re reading these words, I know it as fact. You have the absolute privilege of access to internet and people and all the information you need to start fighting injustices in the world.
Please, use it. You need to, for the people who can’t because of where they were born or the color of their skin. Learn. Grow. And when you start to understand, use it all to go and do the right thing.
Oh! And if you’re still looking for resources to help fight racial injustice, police brutality, and all the awful things that are happening right under our nose today — start here or try this.
I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too (and tag me!! I wanna see it and melt <3)
s3:e4 — needing things and being needed
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project that is sometimes actually daily (like right now — Taryn is emailing those subs every day for 30 days straight). Now's the perfect time to join, so Taryn will hold while you do so by clicking this. She loves u.
the daily taryn season 3: episode 4
Why does it feel so damn good to feel needed? I actually don’t know, but it’s a lot of what I’ve been feeling lately. I’m going to work this out in real time, breaking down the needer (someone who needs something) and the needed (the person who can do the thing that’s needed) and trying to help myself understand it a little better. I need to.
Hi little needer
Needing something/someone feels so, so intense. Like, I don’t need a lot in a day. I could get by without laughing, chocolate, exercise, going outside — even eating enough isn’t really a need. But because of that, when I need something, I NEED IT. Now. Yesterday, really. When I get to the point of need, I’m desperate. I need toast. I need to be told I’m loved. I need an extra hand or I will drop this bookshelf and start bawling. I need water that’s slightly colder than room temp, but has zero ice cubes.
When I need something, I need it — it’s so obvious and clear that it makes every other thing I thought I needed the most pointless, liar of a need ever. And it feels really good to get it.
Hi little needed
God, being needed feels amazing. When the needer says, “Hi I need this!!” and you can give them the thing they need? Damn. Nothing makes you feel closer to a superhero. Need toast? Say no more. Need to be told you’re loved? Give me 10 minutes and access to Powerpoint and you’ll be told you’re loved in 10,000 ways. Need a hand so you don’t drop that thing? My arms are ready and willing and able. Need water? Lovely — would you like sparkling, still, or tap?
It feels so good to be able to give someone what they need. Incredible feeling.
I don’t know what you need / I don’t know what I need
In a perfect world, everyone would know exactly what they needed in every moment. They’d have the tools and experience to share those needs with the people who can help them, and they’d do it without fear or shame or any weird feelings that come up when you ask for things. You’d feel vulnerable, but the good kind — that kind that makes you feel open and empowered and like you’re doing something nice for yourself.
But oooooooooooooo, this is not a perfect world.
Approximately 1 million times a day, I need something and have no idea what it is. I bet you do too. Am I thirsty? Hungry? Insecure? Horny? Tired? Do I need toast, or just food? Do I need my brother to tell me he loves me or do I need to tell me I love me? Do I need to be alone or at Coachella? Do I need to stretch or run or be hugged or play Monopoly?
Ugh. Pour one out if you’ve been there. It’s such a frustrating place to be, as a needer, but also to witness as the needed. And this happens… A LOT in relationships — both in friendships and romantic ones. It happens about 10 times a day between Cam and I. It gets easier, but it never ends. And honestly, I don’t want it to end. Just as good as feels to get the thing you need or give the thing thats needed, it feels amazing to work those things out. To take the extra minute to decide what you actually need, or if you need anything at all. To sit with your partner or friend or dog or kid and come up with a list of 7 things they could need.
Not knowing what you need or what they need is a never (ever) ending game that, if played well, is so, so rewarding — no matter what side of the coin you’re on. It keeps you self-aware. It keeps you curious. It keeps you kind and patient. It keeps you trying and failing and trying and failing and after 10,000 water temperatures, you nail it. Then you try again tomorrow.
a challenge for your next few days
Be a very present, very mindful needer and needed.
As the needer — really think through things you need, how you can get them, and who can help. Don’t stomp around town (masked, please) demanding things left and right. But get quiet with yourself and think, “Hm. What is my life missing right now? What do I need? To make me happier, healthier, kinder, better?” Then — and here’s the hard part — ask for them. Open up to yourself. Needs are so, so important and if they are real needs, they deserve to be met. Pursue them. Work for them. Open up to a friend. Call someone. Break down. You got this.
As the needed — keep your eyes peeled, my friends. For the obvious needs, be there. Set aside your pride and your plans and your want to do whatever it is you want to do, and recognize that the needer is in need. Help them, with big and little, and give them every little bit of presence you’ve got. For the non-obvious needs, stay alert. Spend the next few days tiring yourself out a bit, looking out extra hard for the people around you. Help with the groceries before you’re asked — your mom could be stressed out of her mind and not know how to ask. Text that friend who you’ve lowkey known is not okay, but not known how to reach out. Comment on that picture someone posted that is obviously them feeling a little insecure and wanting to feel cute (Rona has done this to us all) — tell them they look hot or fit or you like their shirt. Look extra extra hard for the needs that people might not even be aware of, and take some gambles. It pays off.
Ah. That felt good to write. Needed it.
I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too (and tag me!! I wanna see it and melt <3)
s3:e3 — okay rona, you're on one
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project that is sometimes actually daily (like right now — Taryn is emailing those subs every day for 30 days straight). Now's the perfect time to join, so Taryn will hold while you do so by clicking this. She loves u.
the daily taryn season 3: episode 3
If you’re a good subscriber, doing the most and reading these in order, you’d know that my yesterday morning was… lols. I did however have a little positive minute of reframing (which I wrote to you all about, and my mom was very proud of — she called me today to tell me that, then to rave about Cammie and her almighty power of helping me see things differently, then I watched Cam soak in those compliments like a sponge because I was on speaker, then I had to tell my mom that I was on speaker, then I got to watch the two of them have a very cute little interaction of mutually loving each other while being slightly annoyed because the call was about ME in the first place).
After my glorious reframing, I was ready for a perfect day, but no.
Rona.
Rona (it’s short for coronavirus, dad) had other plans for me. I’ll be blaming Rona on a few things now, but feel free to replace Rona with whatever your current annoying thing is — your period… the wind… an orange president… etc.
Rona took my day in a deeply weird direction. Rona wanted me to spend a pretty penny at the car dealership — and by pretty penny, I mean 95,000 pretty pennies. Then, Rona wanted us to burn to death — literally. We came home to an 80 degree-hot home, a broken AC unit, and a chemical smell all throughout the house… BECAUSE OUR FILTER THING CAUGHT LITERAL FIRE. Flames. Like. It had a head-sized hole… from fire. COOL. THANKS RONA.
We spent the next ~4 hours stuck in the backyard, literally quarantined within a quarantine, juggling phone calls with the landlord and AC people while obsessively scanning my body for health problems and asking Cam to google which leaking fume will be the death of me. It was hot and annoying and Riggins continued to eat poop which was both disturbing and just like, wtf dude. Grow up. Like, faster. Then I cried and had a little panic attack and cursed at Rona, both in my head and out loud.
It was awful and slightly funny after a morning spent channeling the Dalai Lama and writing to you all about the power of reframing. In no time, Rona got me and turned me into an absolute nightmare. That must’ve been fun for Cam. So we ordered sushi and drank and few beers and tried the stupid games they were playing on Love Island that night. Got you there, Rona.
today was different though
Today, Rona woke up on the right side of the bed. I don’t know who talked her into it, but she decided to spare me. She took the down the decorations at my pity party and threw me a bone. It’s been… a weirdly good day. (OMG AS I WROTE THAT, THE AC JUST TURNED BACK ON OMG HAHAHAHA).
And now, for a short list of good things Rona allowed for me today: We donated a shit ton of stuff we’ve been dying to get out of the house. Someone picked up other stuff that we also really, really needed gone. We completely cleaned our new office. The new sheets we ordered (Calvin Klein modern cotton — thank me later) got here. I had an interview this morning and, as I sat down to write this, got another booked for tomorrow. Someone asked me to handwrite them a tattoo (!!! omg !!!!) and someone else asked to do some illustrations for me (!!!!! so nice !!!!!). I’m feeling slightly (very, very slightly) less bloated. I wore these really silly shoes that Cam said I looked cute in. Riggins is getting snugglier. We were able to book a same day Whole Foods delivery, which was how I knew definitively that some holy power was intervening in our Thursday. And as for the final move… THE AC IS COMING BACK TO LIFE.
Listen, Rona. I don’t know why you’re showing me grace today, but I’ll take it. It’s tough out there. Even saying life with you around is “fine” feels like a stretch. But today? You’re drunk or something, and I’m thankful for it.
I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too (and tag me!! I wanna see it and melt <3)
s3:e2 — let's hear it for the small wins
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project that is sometimes actually daily (like right now — Taryn is emailing those subs every day for 30 days straight). Now's the perfect time to join, so Taryn will hold while you do so by clicking this. She loves u.
the daily taryn season 3: episode 2
It’s 6:17am and today has already been a rollercoaster. How is that possible? Oh, let me count the ways.
I woke up, turned over to grab my phone and read my emails, and immediately remembered just how unemployed I am. I had two telling emails — one from the EDD telling me to collect my unemployment, and another from a hiring manager telling me I didn’t get the job. I was in the final interview stages and they chose another candidate. That’s fun.
I then woke Cammie up to tell her, had a quick and sleepy chat, then got out of bed to let the pups out to pee. I was lowkey naked and insecure standing there in the backyard awkward and tired and blah.
It was not even 6am at this point. So. GOOD MORNING TARYN!
let’s try this again
So. I got back in bed and sat and wallowed like an angsty teen during a breakup. I thought about Cam’s response to me telling her about the lost job opportunity. I went in pissed and sad and like, “BABE WAKE UP MY WORLD HAS SHATTERED WHILE YOU HAVE SLEPT.” I told her what happened and she simply says, “oh, good. That wasn’t for you and they knew it.”
Hm. That feels good. She just saw it differently. She saw this weird bad sad thing and made it into a small win.
Okay no. Redo. Reset. I will not lose this day to a weird 15 minutes. How about I rewrite my morning, taking the exact same things that happened but looking at them as if they meant something else, then looking extra hard for the small wins in between.
It’s 6:27am and today has already been pretty good. How is that possible? Oh, let me count the ways.
I woke up. That’s exciting. I woke up! Not everyone gets that. After my body’s miraculous feat of keeping me alive through the night, I opened my eyes and turned over to grab my phone that somehow connects me to the whole world on a little baby screen. I read countless emails from my newsletter subscribers (you!!!!) from people all over the globe, and immediately remembered just how grateful I am.
I had a few work-related emails that immediately gave me the shits, but are actually smalls wins. One from the EDD telling me to collect my unemployment, which means woah life is weird and tough right now but the government is paying me to job search and reset and that’s something to celebrate. The other email was from a hiring manager telling me I didn’t get the job. I was in the final interview stages and they chose another candidate. That’s… honestly okay. It wasn’t a perfect fit. I knew that. I hadn’t yet heard about pay or benefits or my day to day, and I still knew it wasn’t a perfect fit. Regardless, after 5+ years at the same company, it felt good to be considered by somewhere new. Sounds like a small win, actually.
Regardless, I felt weird, so I rolled over to wake Cammie up to tell her. Do you even understand what a win that is? To be able to turn over and WAKE SOMEONE UP FROM THEIR SLUMBER, and they aren’t mad… at all? They just… start listening? Like. What. I’ve dated many people that would rather die than have me wake them up with news, regardless of it being good or bad. This perfect little human let me wake her up, tell her about something that happened, and then proceeded to turn a loss into a win.
I am one very, very lucky bitch.
After our very cute sleepy chat, I got out of bed to let the pups out to pee. Small win here was that I got to Riggins before she peed herself or woke me up by crying or shaking her cage or doing the very small things she does every morning that somehow seem massively annoying. Not this morning though. I beat her to the punch. Small win.
I stood in the backyard while Frank and Riggins ran around peeing and smelling and stretching out their sleepy paws. I was lowkey naked and insecure standing there in the backyard. Am I going to reframe the fact that I felt insecure? That I don’t fully love my body right now? No — that wouldn’t be real. But I will find small wins around it, like how cool it is that I have the privacy to let the boobs ride in the backyard and no one can see. Or that I have a body that works and walks and that I can even feel insecure about. That I can do something about it with a routine and focus and a plan, when I feel ready.
I got back in bed, let the dogs up (a true treat in this house), and started writing. Riggins is smelling every inch of this bed, which is both cute and terrifying wondering what she’ll want to chew next. Frank is in his happiest place, laid in between us fully convinced that he’s a human like us. Cam is adorable as always and going back and forth between talking to the pups and showing me pictures of pups on her phone. Showing me… pupdates… if you will.
Riggs has the hiccups now and Cam thinks it’s funny. Riggs looks spooked, which I get. Hiccups would be horrifying if you didn’t know what they were. But there’s a small win here, too. We’re giving her extra love right now. Cam is cuddling her tight, and Riggs is going through a little thing that she may not understand, but going through it will give her yet another little life experience that makes up her days as a growing pup.
It’s not even 7am at this point. So. GOOD MORNING TARYN! And good morning you.
Here’s to hoping you find every little small win this day has to offer. Find it and hold it and celebrate it. It’s worth it.
I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too (and tag me!! I wanna see it and melt <3)
S3:E1: aaaaaaand she's back.
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project that is sometimes actually daily (like right now — Taryn is emailing those subs every day for 30 days straight). Now's the perfect time to join, so Taryn will hold while you do so by clicking this. She loves u.
the daily taryn season 3: episode 1
Welcome back to season 3 of the daily taryn.
Hiiiiii. I hope you read that slowly, affectionately, and like it was being said during a very long and sweet little hug, because that’s exactly the kinda hi I was throwing your way. Welcome back to the daily taryn, my friend.
For the original subscribers — hello, my cuties. I’m back and we’re back and I cannot express with words (I say, as I write…) how excited I am to be talking to you all again. The OG subscribers of this newsletter are literally my favorite people on the planet. I’m indebted to you and the encouragement you give me — it keeps me going and gets me back on the writing horse when I’m meant to be, which is now. So, hi. Happy to be with you again. Missed you and hope your 2020 is… fine.
For new subscribers — woah. Hi. There are lots of you, which is beyond exciting. If you have no idea what the daily taryn is, you can read the short of it here. iIt’s basically a daily newsletter about everything and nothing. It’s about life and work and love and stress and thoughts to think about. For the next 30 days, it’ll be like reading my online journal that I’ll email out to this list of people, filled with people I know and people I don’t. I write to understand myself, and sometimes, that helps you understand yourself better too. Thanks so much for coming along for the ride.
Why now?
If I’m having a weird minute in life, I turn to writing. Sometimes I do this privately (on apps like Day One). Sometimes I write little things and put them on Instagram. But sometimes — the times I know I really need to kick myself in the ass — I start a 30 day challenge. I’ve done this twice before (which is why I’m calling this Season3:Episode1) and am happy to be doing it again, although it’s got my head spinning this time around.
I’m not sure why this is where I turn. Why I think, “Okay. Taryn. You’re feeling weird. You’re feeling uninspired and your foundation feels off and your world is just feeling less like it’s yours lately. You know what time it is. It’s time to make a 30 day commitment where you’ll open up to thousands of people consistently every day, sharing things that are some days worth reading and other days, are really just dumb. So. Cool. Have at it, sis.”
Maybe I’m competitive, and giving myself a challenge is fueling. Maybe I like doing something that I know other people like. Maybe I feel confident doing something I know I’m good at. Maybe it’s an awful idea and I’m too tired to see it. Maybe there’s some weird comfort in writing words for people I don’t know, creating a weird little bond made from words in an email. I don’t know, but I’m happy I turn here. It’s fun, and this little corner of the internet feels like coming back to a school reunion. Nostalgic and hard and weird and good.
What to expect for season 3
My entire life is different right now. After 5+ years of work at Patreon, I’m officially unemployed and enjoying a much needed break. After 5+ years living in San Francisco, I’m officially an LA resident. After 5+ years of friendship with a really special person, she’s now my girlfriend, roommate, and co-momma of the puppy we just adopted (plus the pup Cam already had). After 25+ years of crippling health anxiety, I’m surviving a global pandemic with next to no anxiety.
So, for season 3 of TDT, we’re sitting in the changes and the unknowns and exploring what to do when you don’t know what to do. I was talking to my mom today and she said, “aw, bear, you think you’re just feeling out of sorts a bit?” That’s the best way to explain it. I’m out of sorts, which is weird because what the hell does “in sorts” feel like? Regardless, I’m out of ‘em. Fresh out. I feel like I just got off a boat and don’t have my sea legs on. I feel like I’m traveling somewhere I haven’t been, trying to read the signs in a different language. I feel like I just got a new pair of glasses and my eyes feel confused — either the prescription is completely wrong or my eyes just need to adjust. I’m outta sorts, but I’m really, really excited. I can’t thank you enough for coming along for the ride. I hope it’s fun and makes you laugh and helps you think.
And now, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?
As always, you’re invited and encouraged to reply to any of my emails — I read every response and try my hardest to reach back out, which feels like a full-time job itself. But lucky for you, this bitch is unemployed ;)
So, respond whenever, but especially to this one. Tell me about yourself. Who do I have the pleasure to be writing to right now? What’s your name? Where are you from? What do you do? What shows/books/movies do you love and need me to love? How did you find this newsletter? What do you want me to talk about?
I love knowing who’s back there, so don’t be shy. Unless you’re shy and want to be shy and like that you’re shy. Then go be shy. But also, say hi.
Cool. Well, welcome back to the daily Taryn. I’m thankful and excited and ready and hungry. So. Tomorrow it is.
Talk tomorrow,
your friend taryn
I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too.
a lie: do what you love and you'll never work a day..
This post was originally written on 1/7/19 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
We've all heard this quote: "Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life."
This quote is:
1. Responsible for a lot of people feeling like they haven't found the right job. Or passion. Or partner.
2. Encouraging, sometimes. You might find comfort in the fact that someday, you'll find a job that you'll love so much, it won't feel like work. Sounds like magic, doesn't it? For work to not feel like work?
3. In my opinion, deeply wrong, and sorta damaging.
I've had so many jobs I've loved. I've taught tennis to kids. I've been a writer and reporter for a teen magazine. I now write and work on creative ideas for a creative company that I love. And ya know what? It always feels like work. And ya know why? Because.... it's.... work. It's your job. It's supposed to feel like work.
Just because something feels like work doesn't mean it's not something worth loving. It's fun to work, and it's really fun to work hard. It's that much better when you're working hard at something you love.
I get what the quote was going for — it's important to love what you do. But never working a day in my life? How fucking boring.
Like, think about a relationship. You can really, really love someone and the relationship still requires hard work. I mean sure, don't work hard at a relationship with a person you don't love, but gosh — work as hard as possible with a person you do love. Somedays, it'll be hard to keep the relationship awesome. Somedays, it'll be so tough it actually feels harder than the job that gets you paid. But again — it doesn't mean it's not the "right" person for you. Just because something is hard or "feels like work" doesn't mean it's worth canning.
Okay, end rant.
but you're so small
This post was originally written on 1/27/19 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
If you haven't watched the Fyre Festival docs on Hulu or Netflix yet, I beg of you — do it. I have the unpopular opinion of preferring Hulu's, but both are great and you'll want to watch both.
If you don't know what Fyre Festival is, here's the best way to sum it up: a wannabe tech mogul pairs up with a washed-up hip-hop artist to throw the "once in a lifetime music festival of your dream." They spent all their time and money and attention and smarts on marketing, drawing millions of impressions and eyes on this festival - but spent an embarrassingly small amount of all of those things to actually execute the festival. It's no spoiler to tell you that it was a massive failure — that's actually just the tip of the iceberg on this story.
After re-watching both tonight with Kris, I feel sick. Could be the french fries I had after trying to #EatClean, but I think it's this horror story. We cannot underestimate the influence and power of social media. It's insane, what people will believe from an ad. What people will spend on a pipedream. What people will sacrifice to live the lives of the rich and famous. What people think is true, just because they see a clip on someone's story or feed. People do not understand that social media is not the whole story — it's actually SO far from it. It's wrong and weird and sad, and not something we should take likely. For people like me who grew up in the internet age — we have to watch the burning flame that was Fyre Fest and take it as a cautionary tale. We have to use it to make better decisions about what to buy, who to vote for, and where to give. We have to understand when we're being marketed to — when something is worth trusting or when you're being lured into a dumpster fire. We have to know what's being put in front of us to make us believe something that's utterly far from the truth. We have to learn from this.
If we don't, we'll be living in one big Fyre Festival in no time.
on 8 new friends going to vegas
This post was originally written on 4/24/19 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
Friends. I could spend a long time saying a lot of things about how much I miss writing to you. Miss sharing what I'm learning. Miss knowing that you're reading. But I know this is a surprise drop in, so I'll cut straight to it.
I don't know when it happens, but there comes a time in a relationship when they crossover from a "someone I know" to a "my friend" situation. You called them your teammate. Your coworker. Your neighbor. Your mom's friends daughter. Your classmate. Your _____. And then someday, if you're lucky, they become your friend. You drop all the other words that describe how you met and you just own them as your friend instead of anything else. That's my friend.
I've been experiencing that a lot lately, which is huge because it's been a minute since I've made a whole new friend (let alone multiple). Don't get me wrong — I have a lot of friends. I have a lot of acquaintances and a lot of best friends and a lot of friends that are strictly friends. But it's really been a bit since there's been someone new that's _____ enough to cross over into real genuine friendship. I leave that word blank on purpose. I don't always know what it is that qualifies the friendship promotion, from my side of theirs, but it's something - mostly something unnamable. More of a feeling than a trait. More of a, "huh. we're meant to know each other close, aren't we?"
This weekend, me and a group of girls I work with went to Vegas together. Coworkers, I'd say. We were friendly, but I wouldn't say we were friends. Not quite yet at least. I liked them and they liked me, but I didn't feel like I knew them. I didn't feel like they were mine.
Fast forward 2 long drunken nights, a full day in a cabana by the pool, a dinner at Momofuku with wine we can't pronounce, a few creepy men to scream at, and one single pool raft that 9 girls circled around while talking about things I haven't talked about out loud in... a while... and boom. Something clicked. Or, a lot of things clicked. Now, those are my friends. Those are my friends. Not my coworkers. Yes, we all work together, but we're friends first now. Since we've been back to work, I've walked to my desk and thought, "oh my gosh, my friends work here too." I can't explain enough how special that is — to not only work with people you genuinely like, but to experience those feelings of "omg new person who I get and who wants to get me" after years of comfy friendships.
I know the boys. I know Stephen and Katie and Emily and my sweet red-head, Lexy Davidge. They're my best friends, and they always have been. They're home to me. And. At the same time. I'm so excited by this openness I felt this weekend. An openness that reminded me that life isn't done just because you're comfy. You don't fill up your bucket and exhale because it's full, even if filling it was exhausting. You don't have to take things out of the bucket to fit new things. Instead, the bucket always gets bigger. You make room, or it does it's own little magic and makes room for the things/people you need.
I'll end with something I didn't know I needed: sharks and minnows. Let me explain. In Vegas, we were at the Aria "sky suites" pool, which is supposed to be the relaxing pool for all the people staying in the suites. Much to our demise, there were 3 little grom boys splashing and smacking each other and literally being the most annoying humans on the planet. Were they probably actually whispering and giggling and playing at an appropriate volume? Yes. But were we, 9 mid 20's-30s women, drunk with no food in our stomach? Double yes. So, once the boys finally calmed down, you'd think that we'd all relax and enjoy the peace. Instead.... god. I can't even type this without laughing. Instead, we literally played Sharks and Minnows... in the sky suites pool. If you don't know what sharks and minnows is, imagine the rowdiest, most splashy, most invasive game of tag. Imagine the last thing anyone would ever expect to see in a Vegas pool. Imagine the least cute a group of girls could look, viciously trying to tag each other while screaming "I FUCKING TOUCHED YOUR LEG. I KNOW I DID."
It was hysterical, and that was the moment I knew my bucket had gotten bigger and fuller at the same time.
where's home? aka, where/how i grew up
This post was originally written on 12/2/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
I won’t lie to you. It’s 9:48pm and I’m just starting this. Although it’s a bit late to start diving into my personal life, I’m going to do it, because I have a follow through issue. On my backhand in tennis, and in all of my creative endeavors. I tend to get myself and others hyped up about creative projects, than quit a week or so later. That’s why I immediately made this project daily, so I didn’t give myself room to let the days pass by without contributing.
Home, home on the range
Today, we’re talking about my home, and how I was raised. I’m intentionally leaving out religion and sexuality. We’ll get there.
Yay! Okay. So, I was born and raised in lovely Orange County, California, and love it dearly to this day. The weather is as good as they say, people are nicer than you’d imagine, and Yogurtlands are everywhere. It’s heaven.
I was raised by my two incredible parents, Steve and Deena, who are still happily married today — a seemingly small detail about my life that actually is one the things I’m happiest about. A unique thing about my upbringing is that I was also raised by a live-in nanny named Sandra. She joined my family when I was 3 months old, and she was 18, and lived with us until I was 14. I hate using the word “nanny” because Sandra was like a 2nd mom to me. She is still one of my favorite humans on the planet, next to her 13-year-old daughter who I’ve known since birth.
I have two brothers, Jason and Brett, who are 2 and 4 years older than me. Jason lives in Oakland (by me!) and Brett (Mia’s dad!) lives in Huntington beach. Growing up, my brothers and I all had pretty different interests. While that might separate a lot of families, it somehow made ours closer. I think it had something to do with the constant learning and cheerleading that came from celebrating so many different achievements and milestones in each of our lives.
I grew up playing tennis and making people laugh. That’s really all I cared about. I played tennis almost every day from elementary school through high school, and my goal was to be a professional tennis player. I dreamed of walking out on center court at Wimbledon while the announcer says my name and my family and best friends lose their shit courtside.
I didn’t play in college. I could’ve played at smaller schools but wanted to go to Arizona State University where I’d have to try out and walk on, which I didn’t do because I got really involved with a campus organization (in an issue to come).
Why ASU?
It’s well known that California has countless awesome universities, so why did I leave? I chose ASU early on in my life, literally just because my cousin Ashley went there. I looked up to Ashley so much, and she was a cheerleader for ASU. I don’t know why, but because of that and that alone, I had already decided as a freshman or sophomore in highschool that come time to choose schools, I was going to ASU. I was so blindly set on ASU that I actually think the first time I went to the campus was during orientation… lol.
I think about the process of making decisions often, and how weird it is that some decisions are agonizing while others are as simple as deciding to go to sleep at night. My decision to go to ASU was one of the single best choices I’ve ever made, and by far the most simple. I just… decided. I had a hunch, and I went with it. I uprooted my life because I pictured myself walking to class in an ASU hoodie, and liked what I saw. I remember when all of my friends were weighing their options so heavily (as you should), but I just… didn’t. It felt like it was decided for me. Think that’s called fate.
Pit stop in LA, then that big golden gate
I stayed in AZ for a year after I graduated, then moved home to Orange County during a particularly wild wedding season. Both my best friend and my brother were getting married (not to each other, though that’d be dope), so I thought I’d spare myself all the flights home and just move back instead. I worked in LA for about a year (career issue to come soon), then followed some friends and a growing startup to San Francisco. In February, it’ll be 3 years since I’ve moved up here!
Living in SF is an experience, to say the least. It’s one of the most expensive, traveled to, and young cities in the world. The people are brilliant, the views are incredible, and the rent is horrific. Lucky for me, so many of my southern California friends live here, so it always feels a bit like home even though we’re 500 miles away (idk if that’s accurate, but too tired to google it).
Home (noun) - one's place of residence
“Home” is weird. Although Orange County is home, I feel at home in Arizona and San Francisco, too. There are parts are me that lived, died, and continue on in those places and those places alone. There are times when I visit Arizona and am flooded with feelings, memories, and experiences that make me feel more home than there anywhere else, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Lastly, I’ll drive one more point home leveraging an incredibly cheesy song lyric that’s embarrassingly true: “Home is wherever I’m with you.” Aside from actual physical coordinates, there are absolutely people in my life that are home to me. Take Anthony, Tyler, and Sean. These 3 are home to me. We grew up together and are now roommates and coworkers. No matter where we are, I feel home. One year ago today, the 4 of us were in Thailand together. I remember getting there and feeling so incredibly distraught and far from home. I went into my hotel room bathroom, took a few deep breaths, and remembered who I was with. From that point on, I was completely and utterly home, in a country I’d never been to.
Home is so personal, and yet, it means to many things. Things that make me feel home: my parents, my brothers, my friends, candles, orange county, san francisco, arizona, Christmas, blankets, pretty sunsets, and bright stars. I feel home in a lot of places, with a lot of people, with a lot of things. I love that about home. If your house burns down but you have your family, you’re still home.
busy doesn't mean important
This post was originally written on 12/17/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
People perceive me as busy, because I am. I used to think it was cool to be busy, running from thing to thing, traveling and commuting and weighing out my plan options — “plan shopping” as they call it. I loved being busy, until I realized that being present, being un-busy, even being purposefully lazy is the best possible thing you can be.
A must read
Not this post, but another. This afternoon, I was being purposefully un-busy, finally prioritizing reading over shopping, email checking, and endless twitter scrolling.
I’ve been marching my way through Tim Ferriss’ Tools of Titans, a massive book filled with advice from the world’s best performers and icons. This morning, I was reading a section written by essayist and cartoonist Tim Kreiger. It was all about being lazy and being busy, and how it’s all one big trap. I highlighted everything, knowing that it would change the way I saw the world. Knowing I’d never want to forget a word I read.
I immediately felt selfish having read it — I felt better for it and needed to get it out in front of some other eyes. After I highlighted my kindle to it’s near death, I found that what I had been reading was a slightly-updated version of a 2013 piece, also by Tim Kreiger, in the New York Times.
Read it tonight, before the busy of Monday comes knocking. I promise, you’ll be better for it.
mia's first hannukah
This post was originally written on 12/20/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
It’s fun to introduce holidays to people. Even though Mia won’t remember it, my family still goes all out. It’s just who we are. We’ve celebrated Hanukkah since we were kids, and tonight was no different. We cook the meal (I ate more latkes than I can count and my brain is now going -200 mph), say the Hanukkah blessing, light the menorah, and exchange gifts. It’s a special, warm, and kind celebration, filled with lots of hugs and cheers and praying prayers in Hebrew that we’re definitely, definitely butchering.
The funniest part about the night, though, wasn’t that we have intentionally forced Mia into Judaism (until Christmas, where she’ll make her full transformation into a Chrismukkah child). The funniest part of the night is happening right now.
Kristina, my parents, and I are all lounging in the living room watching a Katherine Heigl movie called Jenny’s Wedding. My mom recorded it for us, because it’s about a woman (Heigl) who, after 5 years of dating her female roommate, is finally coming out to her extremely Catholic family and getting married asap. It’s one of those movies where you have zero investment in any of the characters, because the acting is terrible and the plot line is laughably rushed. We literally hate everyone, hahaha. This movie is horrible. But there is something so special about watching this with my girlfriend and my parents.
Hearing my dad chime into tell the unaccepting father to “do the right thing.” Agreeing with my mom when she chimes in about the girls’ lack of chemistry. Chanting “kiss! kiss! kiss!” whenever the clearly straight dad and his clearly straight male friend areon screen. Talking about how much Meryl Streep’s daughter (who is randomly in this movie) looks like my ex-girlfriend and her new girlfriend meshed together.
I don’t know. This may sound just like a movie night to you, but to me, this is a dream come true. If you would’ve told the me of 6 years ago that I would be doing anything remotely close to this, I would laugh, disagree, then probably get back to crying.
Call it a Hanukkah miracle. Mazel tov.
same but different. different but same.
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
I’ve been meaning to write something this week, but I’ve had so much work-writing that my brain power reserved for personal-writing does not exist. It checked out. Left the building. Hope she comes back. Instead of waiting for her triumphant return, I decided to just start typing, pen pal style, and see where we end up before I need to leave for work. Let’s see what happens, shall we?
Okay. Hiiiiii.
Good morning, cute people of this newsletter. I’ll paint you a picture of my vibe right now:
I’m in bed, and have about 30 minutes before I need to workout and walk into work. It’s beyond hard to get outta bed because the sky looks so, so pretty right now, and I have front row seats from my very cozy bed.
Woah. Anyway. I’ve been up for a while, just poking around. I’m in bed with coffee (iced, black, only a few cubes because our ice tastes weird and we don’t dilute our coffee in this house). No pants. Surrounded by a stuffed elephant named Albert, my kindle, my phone playing JB’s new album, and 2 identical thermometers.
Am I sick? Nope. Why the thermometer? Why 2? Cam’s been sick and although we LITERALLY kissed through saran wrap because we were so sad we couldn’t kiss, I’m still nervous I’ll catch the bug before we travel this weekend. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling hot — which, I generally always do, but anxious Taryn immediately thinks this time is different — and grabbed my thermometer. It happened to be next to another and I thought, huh — what if one gives me a shit reading? What if the batteries dead? Where do you even get these little tiny batteries if I ever needed to change it? Whatever — too many factors to just grab one, so you bet your sorry ass that I took my temperature twice on two identical thermometers, then slept like a weird little health-anxiety angel, nestled next to her medical devices. God, I’m wild.
In honor of the 2 thermometers, here are 2 thoughts I’m thinking about this morning:
Same place, different you.
I was looking at all my travel plans so far this year and most of them are places I’ve been before. Actually, they’re places I’ve been like… 3-15 times. Vegas. Kauai. Cancun. A tennis tournament in Palm Springs. Amsterdam. And I honestly couldn’t care less. It’s honestly the opposite — I cannot wait. Let’s talk Cancun for a second. I’ve gone every year since… honestly, since I can remember. My parents let me bring a friend or 4 every year. Yes, the place is the same. The activities are the same. The meals and the condos and the weather, mostly. It’s all the same. But it’s different every year because I’m different every year. Some of my wildest personal moments have happened in the same spot of the same pool in the same month, over and over again. I’ve cried with a stranger. I’ve had a panic attack. I’ve decided I was in love and decided I wasn’t. It’s wild. So, when my brothers or my friends who’ve gone before ask, “You’re doing Cancun AGAIN?” I say yes, but I want to say, “Yes, I’m going again. But also a new me is going this time. Old me and new me. We’re gonna have fun.”
Different place, same words.
Speaking of same and different — how crazy is it that you — yes, you! You in all your you-ness — are reading these words wherever you are in the world. In an uber. At your desk. At school. At your wedding , which, please put your phone down. In London or Africa or Iowa. You are reading the same words that someone else is reading somewhere completely different from you, or maybe the next house over and you don’t even know it. Like, have you ever been in a book club and felt some weird kind of closeness to the people in it, because you’ve both just spent all this time sat there reading the same sentences, wondering the same things, googling the same words because what the fuck does that one mean? There’s a weird community in shared experience, but especially when it comes to shared reading. Because you’re really shared thinking.
So, if you feel alone right now, just know this. There are lots and lots of other people reading this exact word right now. How cool. I hope it makes you feel a little less lonely.
Alright, cool. I gotta get up.
On dating Cammie Scott, lol
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
This is a post that I can’t believe I’m writing, on so many levels. But here goes.
Let me start off by introducing myself. Hi, I’m Taryn Arnold. I’m 29 years old, grew up in Orange County, went to school at ASU, and have lived in San Francisco for 5 years. My parents are my friends, my friends are my family, and I try really hard to write as much as I can so I don’t forget the days and thoughts and things that make me me. I work in tech and do some creative stuff on the side when my mind gets a second to breathe. I’m dating someone I’ve known for 5 years and I think it might be the real deal, but please remember that’s just a part of me. Not the whole bit.
Now, why am I introducing myself at 5:47am on a Wednesday morning, on my own blog & newsletter to people who’ve read my shit for years and others who just recently popped in? Because life is funny and weird and here we are.
Context for the original subscribers: the past few months have been crazy, but the objectively craziest part of it all is that I’m now dating Cammie Scott. If you’re out of the social/youtube world, you might not know why this is worth noting — “why the fuck is she writing a thing about who she’s dating?” First, yes this is weird and wtf and huh, lol. I get it. Second, let me explain. Cammie Scott means a lot to a lot of people. A lot (a lot) of people follow her on social media/youtube, because she’s real and genuine and talks about social issues and health and wellness and being gay and her dog and skincare and life and never ever makes anyone feel weird for not knowing something or being someone that they aren’t yet, but wants to be. She’s easy and beautiful and smart and good at being a person, which is why so many people across the globe follow along and feel like they know her. Because they do, to some extent. If you’ve ever met Cam at a thing — on the street or a meetup or a speaking thing or idk, y’all will find her anywhere lol — you’ll know that she’s somehow better in person. She’s the realest. Nicest. Prettiest. Kindest. Actually looks at you when you talk. She’s the real deal — not this fake internet person who lives behind filters and edits and trendy background music. She’s real. And I love her for it.
“What’s it like - dating THE Cammie Scott?”
I did a Q&A on instagram last night, and wow, I can’t explain how many times I got this question (or questions about Cam in general). I get it — if I was a longtime follower and this new bitch walked into Cam’s life, I’d be curious too. I’ve been that person on the other side. I get it. And I’m sure we’ll answer some of your questions over time — how we met, how we started dating, what our next steps are, etc. — but for now, I wanted to give a peek into how weird this experience of dating Cam is.
It’s so weird to have people care about your relationship.
When I say care, I mean CARE. The amount of new followers I get. The attention. The eyes. Like, I get DMs every day of people saying “they approve” of me, or they’re “so happy to see how happy she finally is,” or every variant of our relationship being "goals/cutest ever/perfect/favorite couple” and more.
It’s bizarre.
I think there’s largely two things happening here.
First, people care in the way that I cared about Cam before I met her 5 years ago. They see a gay girl (or couple) that makes them think twice. That makes them feel normal and seen and heard and understood. That they can relate to. That they can look up to or envy or judge or whatever it is that they need to do in that moment to get through it. So, naturally, people see that Cam has a new girlfriend and all eyes come my way — who is she? Do I “follow” her too? Because a “follow” isn’t just a follow — it’s a representation of interest and intent and acceptance. You follow someone because you are yesing them. Buying into them. “On board” with them. It’s weird.
Second, since I’m a “normal person” with a desk job and average looks, people see me “winning Cammie Scott over” (yes, someone asked me how I managed that) and feel like they’re dating her through me, or they could. They go, “omg, if she can date Cammie (or someone like it), I can too.” So they watch and study and comment and like and feel like they’re getting this experience through me, a SIMPLETON, who scored the belle of the ball. Lol.
Sidenote: Do you know how weird it is to have your girlfriend constantly 1) get tagged in photos of her and her exes, or 2) get pursued when people know she’s in a relationship? Comments on photos of us. DMs. People literally sending stuff to her to woo her. Girls girls girls. Listen up. Lean in. She’s been wooed. I’ve got it covered.
It’s all very weird.
It’s so weird to think twice about what I post.
I post a lot on instagram. I write for this newsletter. I write on my website. I have a podcast. And my entire vibe on the internet is to capture and share whatever feels right in the moment. Whatever I want to share. I let my mind run and post whatever. Because if you’re following me, it’s likely because you enjoy that side of me. You agree with my judgement on what’s worth posting — the little moments, the messy drafts,the rants, the dumb shit without filters or reason or hashtags or brand deals. The little moments in between the big things that are actually secretly the biggest things.
It sounds cheesy, but sharing is caring. Some of my favorite people that I follow are just real. Chrissy Teigen just thinks shit and says it. She’s absolutely rogue, but never disrespectful. Justin Bieber — thinks and says. Some of it is so fucking wacky, but you see him. You see what he's like on his couch on a Tuesday. In his car when he’s tired. It’s the special side of social that, I think, is really underrated.
So, sharing the mostly-unedited parts of my life is caring to me — it’s showing that life is not curated moments and posed photos. It’s not perfect bodies and the best seats in the house. And when people show that side of them, I feel more understood. I feel less alone. So, that’s why I do it.
Now. Cam’s job happens on social media. My playground is her place of work. Cam doesn’t/would N E V E R police what I can/can’t post, but I’m hyper aware now. I’m thinking twice. It’s both fun and annoying as fuck. I probably shouldn’t post this pic of us at the park right now, because people will find out where we’re sat and although it would be nice to meet some new people, I kinda just wanna be on a park date with Cam. I probably shouldn’t share this bit of info because people will think it means something it doesn’t. I know that this thing that I’m writing right now — this very post — is something Cam purposefully won’t do, because she doesn’t want everything in her life to be online. She doesn’t want her life to be her relationship. She wants some privacy. She wants some things kept to herself.
That said, I’m a sharer. I overthink and overshare, and Cam loves me for it. So here I am, thinking twice. Editing a shit ton out as a write, but still writing, because it’s not like me to stop. I wouldn’t date Cam if I had to change parts of me to fit into her life. I’m me and she’s her and that’s fun — I’ll just go slower before I hit post and try to see things from every little angle, like I know many of you will ;)
It’s so weird to have people talking about you.
The next thing I’m going to say is something I CANNOT believe is real, but it is. When Cam and I started dating, I found out that there’s an online chat forum for lesbians around the world to chat/gossip/shit talk about other REAL people, and it’s public and it’s mean. I was shocked when I found this out. People care that much? I guess if I cared about something that much, I’d like to chat with people too. But people are really, at this moment, sat on their ass, looking at some forum, typing about me? Nice things and mean things, but mostly mean things?
Yes, the nice comments and DMs and emails and tweets and everything else outweighs the bad a million to one, of course. For every mean thing said, there’s truly a million nice. But it’s still SO weird to have mean shit said about you. That I’m a rebound. That I’m nothing like her ex from 4 years ago. That I’m x and y and z and everything in between. So when the million nice things come through, all I see is the 1 mean thing that leaked in too… which is… weird.
I don’t have drama in my life. People don’t really dislike me — I’m pretty unproblematic. I’m caring and kind and thoughtful and a lot of really good things. Until a few months ago, I can’t tell you the last objectively “mean” thing I’ve read/seen/heard about me. And now, because I’m dating someone that people “care” about, random people around the world say what they want and think I won’t see. Or, they think I will see, which is so fucking crazy to continue to type the words and say the things and then, post. “Yep. I like it. I like what this says about a girl I’ve never and will never meet, and know nothing about. Post. To the internet. For other people to see.”
Weird.
I did not ask for “this.”
I’ve only allowed myself to look at that stupid forum 2 times in the last few months because it throws me off every time. The last time I looked, someone said something along the lines of, “She thinks we’re not gonna talk about her? What did she expect, dating Cammie Scott? Of course we’ll talk about her. She asked for this.”
And by “this” I mean, having people talk about me/my relationship like they’re getting paid to report for gay TMZ. I really did not ask for that.
What I actually asked for, was to do life with someone I really, really like. Someone that makes me better. Someone that loves me for me. Someone that I can’t get enough of, so I’m forcing my airplane-hating-self to get on stupid airplanes every other weekend to see. Someone that’s gorgeous and goofy and simultaneously everything and nothing like what you’d expect. Someone that is a breath of fresh air personified. Someone that I’ve known for five years. Someone that I’ve spent 2 thanksgivings, 1 passover, 1 christmas, 1 new years, and a whole lot of bachelor mondays with. Someone that I feel weird not sleeping next to. Someone that texts me cute little things when I need it most, like she can read my mind. Someone that’s as crazy about me as I am about her. Someone that woke me up at 3am the other day so we could just “hang out,” and ended up crying laughing in the middle of the night before we went back to sleep.
I did not sign up to be the subject of your comments. But I’ll take it, because I signed up to date Cam — my friend turned girlfriend — and I’m so happy I did.
That’ll do for this morning.
It’s now 6:59am. Cam just got to boxing and I’m going down to the gym.
I don’t write this for sympathy or woe is me. I’m happy. Beyond happy. Happiest I’ve been. This isn’t bad, it’s just new. It’s so, so weird. I hope you don’t read this and go, “wow, this must be so hard” or “she wants to be left alone.” I’m just answering your question — ”what’s it like to date Cammie Scott?” — and I really hope it makes you think twice about what you say/don’t say online. What you do/don’t do. What you feel/do/say about the random girl someone you follow online starts dating.
Hi. It me. I’m the girl.
One thing I want to say is a huge, big, massive woah of a thanks to all the people that were following along with me before I dated Cam, and the ones that have joined since (for me though, not because I’m half of a relationship). I love to write and it’s beyond special to have an audience of people who actually truly care about what I have to say. It’s making me tear up just thinking about it. I’ve met some of you. Emailed with many of you. Read DMs and comments from most of you. And every time you say a nice thing, I appreciate it more than you know.
The internet is weird. I gained 5k+ followers in a few months, for dating a girl I’ve kinda always loved. I’ve become half of a “goals” couple. And you know what? I really do smile every time I get a nice DM or a comment or a something. A new subscriber or a new listener or a new fan of something I’ve made. I really like it. It’s a boost of happy in a weird world.
All said and done, I hope this didn’t read as a big “leave me alone” rant. Instead, I hope it reads like this:
Hi, I’m Taryn Arnold. I’m 29 years old, grew up in Orange County, went to school at ASU, and have lived in San Francisco for 5 years. My parents are my friends, my friends are my family, and I try really hard to write as much as I can so I don’t forget the days and thoughts and things that make me me. I work in tech and do some creative stuff on the side when my mind gets a second to breathe. I’m dating someone I’ve known for 5 years and I think it might be the real deal, but please remember that’s just a part of me — not the whole bit.
Psst. Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.
my neighbor just slapped me? lol
This post was originally written on 12/21/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
I mean, it was friendly slap, but a slap nonetheless.
Today, Kris and I were packing up the car to drive to my parents second home in Palm Springs (we’ll celebrate Christmas and New Years here). It was not the easy, throw your bags in the back and hop in type of packing — it was the kind where you have more bags than there are stars, so you’re playing a giant game of tetris. Once we were finally finished, my sweet dog Buddy decided to run across the street to kiss my neighbor, Grace, a lovely woman in her mid-60’s. I’ve known Grace for 20+ years, so I happily run over to save her from Buddy’s eventual million kisses… Here’s where the slap happened. Now, I’ll give you the actual play by play of the conversation, but I want you to understand how often this exact convo happens. It’s more normal with people who don’t know me well, but rare with people who do… because… you’ll see:
~convo begins~
Grace: Hi Taryn! How are you?!
Taryn, frantically grabbing Buddy: Great!
Grace, wasting no time: Find a boyfriend yet?
Taryn, confused, but not about to dive in: Ah, nope. Not yet!
Grace: *rolls eyes*
Grace: *laughs*
Grace: *slaps Taryn, playfully, like the way your grandma slaps you where it doesn’t hurt at all but also stings for a second*
Taryn: Haha, I’ll tell my parents you say hi!
Taryn: *runs 40 feet to Kristina*
~end convo~
Oh, that kinda "girlfriend"
The funniest thing about this exchange is that I brought Kristina to Grace’s 4th of July party this year, and surely introduced her as my girlfriend. I know my parents refer to her as my girlfriend as well, but unfortunately, “girlfriend” is a weird word.
Watching someone try to figure out what I mean when I say “my girlfriend” is like watching them try to assemble a puzzle with 10 missing pieces.
I’m sorry, did she say girlfriend? Does she mean girlfriend like pal, or girlfriend like omg she’s kissing girls on her free time?? Is she gay? I thought she dated that one boy… but I guess she does like to wear Converse, and hasn’t had a boyfriend in a while…
Because of this, it always feels like I’m coming out to people. I have to say “girlfriend” a few times, then try to find another way to explain it instead of saying “WE JUST KISSED A LOT IN YOUR DRIVEWAY LOL DO YOU NOT GET IT?”
Sometimes you have to show instead of tell. If we know people aren’t getting it (like at a bar or party), Kris will hold my hand or kiss my cheek… and even then, it’s unclear, because sometimes girls hold hands or make out when they’re drunk.
It’s both hilarious and exhausting, but it comes with the territory. If you’re lucky, this rigamarole will only result in your neighbor (who has known you since you were a baby and met your girlfriend multiple times) slapping you and telling you to get a boyfriend.
Also, chills.
Here’s a text my aunt just sent me:
how about we try again?
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, an email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.
It’s gonna be a no from me this morning.
I'm not going to lie — this morning is not it, and it's only 8:27am. I really, really wanted some headspace this morning to write out my thoughts on Kobe/Gianna/all the people on that flight, but instead, I'm over here obsessively checking my blood pressure, heart rate, ECG-thing on my apple watch — juuust fucking flipping out.
If you're new around here, your girl has health anxiety (look it up if you'd like to understand my misery, lol but also not lol). I won't dive into it because that's not what I need right now, but I'll give you the basics:
Had it since I was 10
Think about it so so so many times a day
Seen so many therapists it's crazy
Seen basically every doctor ever, including... 20+ visits to the ER for things I thought were heart attacks
It's very, very not fun. And this morning had a few things that got me spooked, so I'm going to do all the things I need to do to make myself nice and cozy.
I'm not here to complain, get tips, or get sympathy. Really, I don't want or need it. But I do want to say this, and if you've read enough of my stuff, you know I believe this to my core — you can restart a day whenever you want to.
Get out of bed on the wrong foot this morning? Get back in and try again. First few hours didn't go your way? Cool. In your head, count that as an entirely different day. Take a deep breath and start over. Have a weird interaction with someone you love? Pause. Take a deep breath. Archive. Reset. Start over. Don't let a whole day be a "bad day" because you had a bad moment, or maybe a string of a few.
You can always restart, reset, and try again. I'm doing that today, and if you need to, I hope you do too.
Hi. Thanks for the read — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, here’s 2 options to keep the fun going. You could 1) share this with someone, or 2) join my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.
what did you keep? — the daily taryn
This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.
A few weeks ago, I briefly mentioned a really sad Uber I was in. I mean, the car wasn’t sad. The driver was. Honestly, she wasn’t even sad, but her stories and her memories and what we talked about made me really, really sad. Even though it was a while ago, I want to tell you a bit about it as I’ve thought of it every day since.
But before I get into it, I need to do a very embarrassing thing. Some of you have been asking if you could send money to say thanks for The Daily Taryn, which, gosh. That really is the most kind. If you are one of those people or are not but still want to send some dollars over for the last month’s work, you are true angles. I don’t deserve or expect it, but if I can buy a drink on you after this ends, I will surely cry a little happy tear. I’ll leave the info for how to do that at the end of this post.
When a ride is more than a ride
Okay, back to it.
It might shock you to know that I loathe chit chat or mingling of most kinds. Chatting with uber drivers is generally not my thing but this night, I think it was serendipity. A happy accident. Little magic that I was matched with this girl.
I was ubering home after a drink with some friends and got a very sweet driver. She was kinda quiet, but you could really she really wanted to talk. She was kind and funny and reserved until given the floor — when homegirl had the stage, she said it all.
I’m not sure how we got there, but we were talking about growing up. She told me how bullied she was. How she was always, always picked last. She remembered everything — her bullies names (yes, multiple). The exact sentences they said. The people standing around her when it happened. The way no one ever helped.
I saw a picture of a kid on her lockscreen and asked if it was hers. She excitedly shared about him — her son — and her incredible husband that she created him with. She was so, so happy. All smiles to be talking about this with me.
Then. She says this: “After all those years, I never thought I’d marry a man like him. I never saw it in the cards for myself. A skinny, attractive man. I never thought I’d be worthy of it, or that a man like him would look at someone like me and think I’m beautiful.”
I will never forget it. She was not fit, but she was certainly not fat. The fact that she felt this way about herself, it crushed me. And it crushed me more because it made sense. She remembered every little mean thing people said to her for probably 40 years. She wasn’t confident because she couldn’t be confident — the world didn’t make room for her to grow.
And yet, she was happy. She talked through these memories like they were exactly that — memories. Things that happened in the past and brought here to who she is today. She was so positive and kind. An amazing listener. So friendly. Asked incredible questions. She was a wife and a mother and a bread winner and a person I hope to see again. She came out on top.
What did you keep?
She overcame it all, but she kept a lot of things. She kept a lot of hurt. She kept memories, and you could tell they still stung like a fresh wound.
What did I keep?
Since that ride, I’ve continually asked myself that questions. What did I keep?
What memories or insecurities or vivid dreams or one-liners or handwritten notes or backhanded compliments did I keep for all these years?
I have a terrible memory, but I know some of the things for sure. Now, so does my therapist. I’ve literally had sessions where I’ve asked if I could just talk through memories — the few that I have — to try to make sense of why those stayed and others didn’t.
I wonder what I kept that I don’t even remember. The comments or actions or secrets seeped right through my memory into some back alley of my brain. Present Taryn doesn’t know how they’re affecting me, but they are. I wonder what those things are. I’ll keep looking. I’m excited to find out.
If you haven’t thought about what you kept, you should. It’s important to know. It’s important to know what you kept so you can know what you need to let go.
—
Alright, back to you angels who want to compensate me, for whatever reason. Thank you. It means the world. If you want to buy me a coffee or drink or dinner or ROUNDTRIP FLIGHT TO EUROPE — you can send some love on venmo or paypal. Venmo is @taryn-arnold and paypal is here. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.