There is a special kind of joy a daughter feels when told she resembles her mother.
A burning combination of blessing and accomplishment.
As though that voice in the back of her head, now her own, stares back at her with new meaning: less directive, with more mutual respect than before. Maintaining that womb-like connection while allowing for failure and growth.
Transition is natural, as is maturation and distance.
However, of a rare few, do daughters transition from children to halves. In a sense that these young women both by unconscious choice and blessing, develop the ability to share a brain with their mothers. A superpower that, unbeknownst to them, deems them the true winners of parental lottery.
And this is where I argue...
we are the luckiest of all.
Personal day, Solo Date, Me Time. Whatever you'd like to call it, it really is essential. I've never been one to treat myself to time alone. My self-care habits have mostly included massages, new clothes, an extra coffee, or new Coloupop Lippie Stix. But recently, on a day when I was feeling particularly absent-minded, I decided to really treat myself. I called into work, and headed to the movie theatre.
You could say I'm catching flights... getting antsy and wishing my next travel plans were coming faster! When I'm dreaming of jet setting, there's only one way for me to ease my sorrows: settle in for a film to send my mind elsewhere. Here are my top 5 movies that always fill my travel withdrawals:
Eight days from now, January 21st, 2017, one of the largest demonstrations in my history will take place on Washington DC, with sister marches across the US and in more than 30 other countries around the globe.
I have been asked over and over why I am choosing to march. My answer is typically one of the basic statements behind the march: I am marching in solidarity, women's rights are human rights, etc. But the real answer is none of those. I am not choosing to march. I HAVE to march. In these recent times, there is no other option than to speak for our rights. There is no possibility of changing the outcome of November past and more importantly, I am not protesting your Republican; it is so much more than that.
To put it simply, “The exchange really is forever”. Little did I know that those foreign exchange students whom I only spent a measly 20 days with in 2012, would still be in my life four years later. Rewind to June 2011 when, in the last week of my Junior year of high school, I received an email with the name Sophie Monachini, the Italian girl who would come live with us for 10 days that fall. Cut to September when all of us Americans were waiting at the gate with flowers and posters decorated with our respective Italians’ names.
Life is complicated, that's a given. I'm just here to talk through the rough patches, celebrate the successes of adulthood and figure out what the hell we're doing.