The universe enjoys posting prompts at the oddest times and in the quirkiest places to elicit reflection. This morning’s no exception; my inbox and Instagram feed slapped me silly with thought. I’m the consummate late bloomer. My mother took pleasure in reminding me of this (I assume because she knew it’d serve me well, ultimately). […]Read More On Balance.
Hey hey, y’all! How’s your day of rest progressing? I’m doing laundry; I’m that person. Every Sunday, on Facebook (search “Rebecca Emily Michael Gaffney” to be friends with the gal with the world’s longest name) and Instagram, I present a topic and explore what’s eating at you, me, and the global collective around that idea. […]Read More On What’s Eating At You.
My bowl of cherries hasn’t been empty this year, just sour. I took bites anyway; nourishment’s nourishment and I’ll be damned if 2020 starves me of all hope. There’s something about having already battled depression, when the outside world was seemingly sunny, that has made the challenge of battling a depressed outside world doable. 2019 […]Read More On Taking A Bite.
Conspicuous truth has curious timing. (Hi, y’all. It’s good to be back.) While reviewing the first draft of Wanderlings The Zine : Issue Two :: JOYRIDE with the editorial team (of which I’m a member), I quietly pulled focus for a moment. On pages 62 – 63, we ask the reader: Who are you becoming […]Read More On Being.
Ten years ago today, I celebrated the vivacity of my mother among beloved friends and family. Her passing was the launch of a new journey for me, and her salute was a North Star imbedded in my heart for the remainder of my days. One year ago today, a man, with whom I was falling […]Read More On Zero.
Hi, Mom. I currently lack the elegance and poise necessary to begin this correspondence in a manner civilized enough for honoring the 10-year mark of your passing. After a decade of mining, sorting, disinviting, grieving, and rebuilding… I’m fucking tired. But you knew I would be. You always said, “Some things are worth losing sleep […]Read More On Ten Years.
Children. I don’t have my own for a reason. That reason: I irritate myself enough. This party doesn’t need a plus two. In all seriousness, child-rearing was never of interest to me. I prefer (and enjoy) the titles of “Auntie Bek,” “Aunt Beki,” or “What’s your name?” The nieces, nephews, and I hang; we do […]Read More Q.
I’m in the midst of projects for two clients that require my brain cells to foxtrot, tango, and hustle simultaneously. I just busted my attention two-stepping over to thoughts of making out with my version of Aaron Samuels because it’s October 3rd and wouldn’t it be delicious to be… Bek, STOP. Focus. Refresh your coffee […]Read More OCTOBER 3RD.
Maker’s Mark with club soda and lime juice refreshed. Apartment cozily lit and comfortably cradled by the faint hums of city life. MacBook Air pumped to 93%. This is the calmest I’ve been since May of this year. The most clear-headed as well. Our Founding Fathers were really on to something with their checks and […]Read More EMOTIONAL EXCAVATION.
When I was a child, my mother was given a t-shirt by a friend that displayed a print of a cow on its back. Under the cow was written, “Really, I’m fine…” The gift was an homage to my mother’s merciless habit of downplaying her lupus and the struggles that resulted from it. She wore […]Read More REALLY, I’M FINE.