The 30-Year Old Lightbulb

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Your girl has been thirty for almost a month now. 

I was seriously waiting for thirty at the door with the patience of a toddler. I’ve been ready to hit thirty ever since I turned twenty-seven. There is something defining about turning thirty. It means that you no longer entertain or deal with the childish drama from your twenties but you also have to GROW THE HELL UP (if you haven’t already). You get way fewer excuses/passes thrown your way. Nobody wants to justify your ridiculous behavior, they expect you to know better. You will hear people talk about a lightbulb that clicks on when you turn thirty and I’m here to tell that lightbulb clicks on loudly and it is dramatically bright.

My light bulb clicked on for me when I realized how much I truly don’t care about the same things that use to drive me crazy. I can’t even begin to conjure up the energy it takes to deal with annoying men, drama-loving women or situations that don’t benefit me and mine. I rather just say “I’m old and I don’t feel like it” and keep it moving. The light bulb was basically an ‘aha’ moment as I realized that I should have NEVER cared about those type of people or those type of situations. It’s like my mind realized that I don’t actually have to spend my days dealing with people/situations that annoy my soul. It’s my life! Why spend it getting wrinkles and gray hair early because I want to entertain things that have nothing to do with my purpose or passion(s)?

I will always cherish the lessons I learned during my twenties and also the good and bad experiences I lived through. But it’s over for my twenties so I’m looking forward to whatever my thirties have in store for me. Hopefully, that involves a bestseller and a family but hey who knows!

Florals In The Spring, Groundbreaking.

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I’m just a regular girl that likes putting on clothes and taking pictures.

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How Running Taught Me To Stay In My Lane

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When I first started running through the streets of NYC as a beginning “distance runner”, I was intimidated. I mean INTIMIDATED. Here I was, attempting to run alongside people who made running look effortless. Soooo unlike myself, whose face consistently showed my desperation to stop and never run again. They were decked out in either Nike’s latest running gear or their infamous run club’s attire while discussing crushing PRs (personal records). When I ran by myself through my neighborhood, I was in my zone. My music was turned up, I breezed past the blocks like I was chasing the ice cream man and I felt like a “real runner”. But when I joined the group runs, I was back to feeling like I didn’t belong.  Continue reading