remember the weather?? lol - s3:e13

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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. 

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make time spent well spent - s3:e12

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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.

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there's something different about you... s3:e11

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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I can’t thank you enough for reading. If you liked what you read, share it with someone you think would like it too.

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.

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.

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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.

talk about being gay — 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.

The daily-ness of this newsletter is almost over, and I feel slightly bad for not creating one main post all about “gay stuff” — especially since that was the number one requested topic. Instead of creating that post, I’m going to tell you why I won’t.

why I haven’t talked much about gay stuff

There’s a few reasons, really.

First, I’ve talked about it a lot already.

Like, a lot. Like, if you’re gay, I think that’s probably how you found me. If you’re not gay, you’re probably indirectly gay from how much I’ve talked about it.

I wrote about my first gay relationship, and girls just smell better. Read that here.

I wrote about some advice for church-going baby gays, because I was one. Read that here.

I interviewed my first girlfriend about finding love and hiding love and losing love, and it was really sweet. Listen to that here.

I interviewed my current girlfriend about labels and why we hate them but want them. Listen to that here.

I made a video for Kristina that I have literally never shown anyone except her. I made it for her one day with footage I had laying around after I realized how much I film her, because I think she’s the most pretty. I just watched it again. It’s really, really special to me — not because it’s good (beware - it’s not), but because it’s a little glimpse of us. It’s unlisted, but you’re my fam, so enjoy. You can watch that here.

So, yeah. I’ve made a lot of things about it. Things I’m really proud of, and things that sometimes make me feel like I’ve said it all. But there’s more to it.

Next, I haven’t talked about it much because I don’t want it to be all of who I am.

My sexuality is a part of me. It is not all of me. I don’t want to be a “gay writer” or “gay podcaster” or “gay _____” because it makes me feel smaller than I am. Not because “gay” but because label. Besides being gay, I’m also kind. But could you imagine if all I ever wrote about was being kind? How to be kind. Why you should be kind. Why being kind is the best way to be. When I knew I was the most kind. What to do when I’m not feeling kind. It would get old, for the reader and the writer, and I’d become “the kind girl.”

I try hard not to over-identify with any one thing because it makes me feel less like me — a dynamic, changing, multi-traited person.

That said, I love talking about it. I know it’s important to — I know it’s helpful and it matters and it helps you and me and all of us feel a little less alone. I just don’t want to talk about… only that, you know?

Lastly, I’m still figuring out how to be gay.

This is true. I literally don’t know. Probably the least comfortable I feel is when I’m with other gay people — I don’t feel gay enough, or like I’ve been through enough “gay stuff” to be a voice for us all. It’s very, very weird that’s a real fear of mine, but it is. I have lots of friends who are professional gays, and I’d trust them with all of my gay questions and problems. But I don’t feel like that — I feel like I’m still figuring it all out.

I don’t know what I label myself as. I say “gay'“ in this post because it’s easy, not because it perfectly fits.

I don’t know if I find men or women more attractive. It feels obvious to say, “it depends on the person.” But it does.

I don’t know if I feel fully confident out in public with a girl yet. Actually — I do know how I feel about that — somedays it’s easier than others. I don’t know how I feel about how I feel, though.

I don’t know anything about gay culture. I don’t know which celebrities are gay, or who the true gay icons are.

I don’t know huge gay moments in history. Gay literature. Gay activists. Gay issues.

I very much still feel like a baby gay. Like I’m still quietly peeking out from inside the closet, just barely entering the rest of the room. I don’t know how to be gay, but I’m… trying?

When in doubt, weave it in

So. Instead of big soap boxy posts where I pretend to be certain about all the things gay-life has to offer, I have taken a stance that feels more realistic to me. Like I do any other topic, I weave in the gay naturally.

When I talk about my Saturdays, I also talk about Kristina and how cute she is.

When I talk about Love Island and The Bachelor and all the glorious TV I love, I point out that I kinda like everyone — maybe the girls more? Who knows.

When I talk about hard things, I talk about coming out.

When I talk about life, I weave it in. It’s a part of the picture — not the whole thing, but a part, and a part that I love.

So, yeah. That’s why I didn’t make a “fully gay post” this time around.

Talk tomorrow, 
Your friend, 
Taryn

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.

we've all got junk drawers

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.

I donated everything I own.

Juuuuust kidding. I wish though — I'd love to be one of those "give everything away because possessions mean nothing and the joy of giving is greater than anything you've felt through buying something" type of people but I truly, deeply am not. I love things. 

I own so much stupid shit. Like, truly. I bought a mini-skateboard because Zac Efron was somehow tied to the company. I have the DUMBEST trinket from Shark Tank, that you stand on and twist and then you get abs, clearly. I have rollerblades that you strap on to your shoes.... for... all the times I'm going to go rollerblading. Duh. 

I also keep so much stuff. T-shirts from high school. Letters from exes. Books I've never read but should definitely read and bought them to force myself to read them but we all know I will not read them. 

I buy stuff. I keep stuff. So yes, I have a lot of stuff. But I'd never want you to know that. I've written about this before, actually — how I keep my room pretty tidy, so if you walked in you'd think, "wow, she's clean!" But do. not. open. a. drawer. It's chaos. Madness. Every drawer is stuffed with stupid purchases and weird keepsakes. Every drawer is a junk drawer. 

That was Taryn pre-Friday. Now I'm Monday Taryn, and Monday Taryn spent her whole weekend cleaning like my life depended on it. I couldn't stand the mess anymore. I couldn't stand the double-little life I was running — clean on the outside, chaos on the inside. It was exhausting and felt sneaky and like I was tricking people around me.

(Obviously, this a metaphor for life and how most of us want it to look like we have it together but there is actually so fucking much happening beneath the surface, and instead of dealing with the shit, we shove it behind the books and under the other stuff and hide every little baby string that might pop out and make us look messy or out of line in any way.)

So. I was over it. My friend/angel Jenn (who loves to clean) came over EVERY DAY this weekend to help me purge, and it was pure magic, and it ended in donating 10 trash bags full of stuff that I really, really don't need. It felt and feels amazing — I've been smiling like a kid in my bedroom. It doesn't look too much different on the outside, but there's the deepest sense of joy knowing that if my roommates walked in and opened a drawer, no one would cringe. It's lit in there. Everything has its place. The calm on the outside matches the calm on the inside. It feels so good to know that.

Moral of the story: Don't be scared of the junk drawer — we all have one. Or two. Or ten. Don't try to hide it. See it for what it is — stuff that's better confronted than pushed aside. Stuff that deserves to see the light of day. Stuff that should be worked through with someone you love.  Stuff that shouldn't make you insecure, but should motivate you to change and do better. It's just stuff. Look at it, thank it, and let it go.

Talk tomorrow, 
Your friend, 
Taryn

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.

the sky is nice up here, just you wait — the daily taryn # 17

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.

I do some of my best thinking on planes, likely out of survival. If I’m not 100% distracted, I’m a mess up there. Here’s what I was thinking about on one of my last flights.

Prepare for take off

Have you ever flown on a bad day? It’s gloomy or raining or snowing or the sky just feels weird and you’re positive the plane will enter a cloud and never come out. Beside the weather, you’re just having a day. Maybe it’s what you’re leaving, or what you’re flying to. You’re sitting on the tarmac, smushed against a stranger who’s waiting to open their crusty hamburger, watching the guys in reflective jackets load hundreds of bags of too many outfits, and you’re just not having it.

You half listen to the safety briefing thinking “what if this is the one time I really need to listen and I don’t?” so you kinda pay attention, but not nearly enough to stay calm if something actually happens. You take off and your town gets smaller and smaller and smaller until you pretend you know what highway that is but we all know you don’t. The sky is dark and weird and you’re feeling dark and weird as you get closer to it. The plane is shaking and bouncing and people are trying their hardest to not look afraid, but if you look close enough, everyone’s a little on edge (except the 60 year old woman already snoring through her romance novel — how the hell do these people get to sleep so fast???).

Don’t like this one bit, but it doesn’t matter — you’re along for the ride no matter what. You have to be.

If you’re like me, at this point you’re quietly praying “please stop the turbulence. please stop the turbulence.”

And then, just then

You and your headphones and the other 175 people in this pencil with you shoot out from the other end of the cloud and it’s perfect out. It’s perfectly blue. The sky is gorgeous. The plane is perfectly still. You’re actually, literally, floating above the clouds. As far as your little window let’s you be, it’s blue and magic and clear and warm.

Twenty seconds ago, you were doom and gloom, because that’s all you knew. Just on the other side of those clouds below you are heaps and heaps of people who think today is a crappy rainy day. A crappy rainy week. A crappy rainy year. They’re covered in rain. Their hair, ruined. There new raincoat is proving not to be rainproof.

But in this moment, you know the truth. You know that it’s really, really pretty up here. It’s actually kinda breathtaking.

It’s nice up here. I promise. Just you wait.

If you haven’t caught on to this metaphor, let me be blatant — this is a lot like life. No matter how rainy and windy and grey and weird your day is, you can trust and know that it will and does get better. It’s always sunny somewhere. It’s always clear somewhere. And it will be clear and warm and calm for you again soon.

Just you wait and see.

—

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.

you are who you want to be

This post was originally written in 2013 on a website that had an audience of one (me). It actually still holds up, so I sent it to my 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.

On my way to work this morning, I was thinking about how weird it is that no two people are the same. I know it’s common sense, but it’s pretty fuckin’ weird. There are so many people, but not two of anyone.

You are you. Yay. But what makes you you? Everything, really.

A bit of everything

You’re the place you were born. The way you were raised. The good qualities from your parents. The bad qualities from your parents. The best days. The weird days. The kinda forgettable days. The nights you stayed up laughing with friends or having sex with someone you really super love. You’re your ex, and the ex before that ex, and the boy you chased around the playground in 6th grade. You’re the tennis trophies and report cards and birthday parties and trips abroad. You’re every experience and memory and lover and challenge — you’re a piece of it all.

Inherently you

You’re a mix of all the things that you’ve done and read and seen and experienced, but you’re also a mix of things that are inherently you — independent of everything else. You’re the traits that have followed you from childhood to adulthood. You’re the kid who “always danced through the movie credits,” so your mom says. The class clown. The one who looks for the lonely people. The scaredy-cat. The one who feels like they’re meant for something bigger. The one who has always felt secretly psychic. Or not enough. Or who always wins board games, because you have no idea how you got this competitive, but you just are. You are what you just are.

You are who you want to be

My favorite part about who you are is that you’re exactly who you want to be at any given moment. If you wanted to be anything other than what you are, you’d go be it. Don’t want to be a smoker? Stop smoking. Want to be a kinder person? Start being kind.

You — the person that you are — is not set in stone. You can be who you want to be. You might hate the way you were raised. Be embarrassed of your weight. Think you’re made for better. Know you’re made for the best. You might wish you weren’t this way, or that way. Wish you were more like the people you admire. You might be dating someone who has qualities you’ve always wanted. You might have friends you don’t want — you know they’re making you worse.

I have the best news for you: you can change who you are. Maybe not the color of your eyes or the shit you’ve experienced or the memories of the worst days in the world — no, you can’t change everything.

You can’t change who you’ve been, but you can change who you are. You can change who you’ll be.

—

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.

10 tips on mastering awkward social situations — the daily taryn #8

This post was originally written in 2013 on a website that had an audience of one (me). It actually still holds up, so I sent it to my 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.



People are hard.

I have been in many social situations lately where I’ve been thrust into the feeding frenzy of meeting new people. Very few people, even those who categorize themselves as extroverts, thrive on meeting new people and mingling. Even if I don’t LOVE it, I’ve been told I handle myself quite well in these situations, likely because I have base-level manners and like to make others feel welcomed.

Through these countless situations, I’ve kept a mental note of things we do (consciously and unconsciously) that make us seem arrogant, uninterested, or just plain mean. The beauty of this comprehensive list is that it’s applicable to all types of people: introvert, prom king, hip hop dancer, milk man, and the class clown. This list also covers all types of stranger interactions, from waiting in line at Chipotle to accompanying a friend to a party where you quickly become the lone wolf.

Alas, 10 simple steps to handling social situations and being nice(r) to strangers:

1. First of foremost — ALWAYS remember that this social interaction (shopping at Nordstroms, sitting at a restaurant, being in an airplane, etc.) has an end point and will not take up the rest of your life. 

If you truly remember that, you’ll be more apt to give each interaction your full attention. The chances you see some of these people again are minuscule  and the only way people will remember you will be if you had a positive or negative interaction. Give people the attention they deserve. This too shall pass. 

2. Keep a smile on hand at all times. 

Many people enter rooms with faces that reflect their fear of interaction, with a scowl or absolutely no emotion at all. If you prepare your smile prior to walking through a door, it’s equipped and ready to be contagious. Who wants an unknown grump to walk into their home? Nobody. But who wants that smiling person? ME.

3. Be the first to introduce yourself. 

Everyone knows the harrowing feeling of standing in a group of 3-5 people while most of them know each other — except you. Stop wondering who will be the only nice one in the group to introduce themselves —DO IT FIRST. An easy lead in? “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m _____.” Done. Tension broken.

4. Shake peoples hands (or hug if you’re feeling CRAZY). 

Don’t do the TERRIBLY AWKWARD FOR EVERYONE gesture where you literally wave at each other from 5 feet away. MOVE YOUR FEET PEOPLE.

5. Eye contact. Make it. 

I don’t know when exactly the turning point is in life, but people now refuse to look into each others eyes. Do you know how much more strife you bring into the situation if you’re the shifty-eyed weirdo who can’t look into the eyes of the person in front of you? I mean, don’t burn a hole in their retina with your unlocked stare, but look people in the eyes because it shows that you’re interested in what they are saying, even if it’s the guy at chipotle asking “brown or white.”

6. Put down the phone. 

I am 100% guilty as charged with this one. In uncomfortable situations, we are first to whip out our phones like we’re expecting POTUS to call- obsessing over our missed calls or any possible text conversations we can muster up. When you have your phone out, you’re basically telling everyone around you that you’re uninterested. Put it away- you’re not that important and you’re missing out on the conversations you could be having with real people that are constantly around you.

7. Be the first to ask questions (this goes for introverts too). 

Imagine you’re in a group of 4 and 2 of the people are in a conversation, where you quickly find you and the other person literally watching a conversation happen. Start one of your own! If you are uncomfortable talking about yourself, what better way to avoid it than ask questions about the other person. A technique I often use is what I like to call the Interview Technique: ask where they’re from, what they do, and what they did earlier today. It’s a triple whammy- you learn about someone new (and make them feel valuable while doing so!), you don’t have to talk about yourself, and you get to brush up your interviewing skills.

8. Laugh. Even if it’s not funny. 

The worst thing that happens in casual/quick conversations is when the other person, while talking, starts to laugh at something they say. You have no clue what’s happening or why they think it’s funny, but you cut the tension in half if you join them in giggling. This also goes for when you’re in line waiting for Chipotle and the coocoo lady in front of you makes some weird comment (to herself), laughs (at herself), and then suddenly includes you in her one-sided convo by looking at you. JUST SMILE OR GIGGLE OR SOMETHING. Quick.

9. Compliment people instead of judging them. 

This happens far more than it should. Some girl walks into the room and you immediately scowl because you’re jealous of how pretty she looks in that indie dress that you think you could never pull off. Of course, she ends up walking right past you and you don’t notice that you’re still scowling at her. She looks up, sees your face of disapproval and “screw you” and keeps walking. Interaction over- and it was terrible. COMPLIMENT HER DRESS! Stop being selfish! When she walks by, stop her and comment on how much you love her dress. Girls can be friends too! Who knew.

10. Lay down your too-cool pride. 

I believe that 100% of interactions (with friends, family, or strangers) can be improved by laying down your pride. Stop thinking that you deserve to be approached- approach people. Take off the blank look on your face that says you don’t really want to be here- smile. Don’t wait to be spoken to- speak. Engage. Create the positive interactions that you want to happen for you, because you’ll notice that once you reach out and initiate, even if you had to do it, the interaction is already worthwhile. Sure, you have to laugh at a few jokes that you don’t really enjoy, but you made somebody’s day. Put down the phone, smile, and make a new friend.

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.

"do what you love and you'll never work a day..." — the daily taryn #7

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.

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. 

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.

i feel bad for sunday — the daily taryn #6

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.

I feel very, very bad for Sunday. Actually, Monday too. They're just days, but people make them feel like they're half days. Cheap days. The days at the bottom of the barrel. First, you get the "sunday scaries" where you sadly run errands and sadly clean your house and sadly get ready for Monday. Then, you get the "monday blues" where you sadly work and sadly work out and sadly talk about your weekend as if years have passed since the freedom of your Saturday.

If Sundays and Mondays could feel (which, who knows?), I bet they'd be sad. They'd probably feel like parking cops, just doing their job but getting all the wrath of illegally parked drivers. They'd probably feel like pigeons, just trying to enjoy the pretty cities but listening to the world tell them they're disgusting and weird and made for they streets. They'd probably feel like a comedian bombing their set. A cop breaking up a barely-too-loud party. A principal addressing a bully. 

Sundays and Mondays are just trying to do their job. Let's be nicer to them. Let's thank them for what they are. Days to reflect on our weekends. Days to kickstart our weeks. Days to knock the hard things out so the easy things are all that's left. 

If you really think about it, Monday is your pre-weekend. I know, it's a stretch. 

Hope you had a lovely, not scary Sunday. And I really hope you have a dope Monday. Thank it for coming. How lucky are we to get another one?

Oh! I just got done replying to EVERY SINGLE EMAIL from wednesday (and those since then, too). You all are incredible - I'm stoked to hear you're liking this thing so far. Many have asked if they're still "allowed" to respond to the dailies, or if it's too overwhelming. YES - please reply! NO - not overwhelming. I love it. If you have a comment or thought or question about something I've said, hit that sweet sweet reply button and let it free.

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.