How to Stop Apologizing: A Work in Progress

I've been absent and off the grid and thinking about everything else other than art and making things that make me feel things. BUT I made an exception and scrawled my 2018 New Years Resolution. Check out my past posts regarding New Years to see that I'm pretty serious about this stuff. This year I'm working on trying to stop apologizing for my existence. 

Every other word that comes out of my mouth at work is "sorry." And once I started to notice how frequently I apologize, I started to get more and more irritated with myself. Sorry to ask this question... Sorry for doing my job... Sorry for asking you to do you job... Sorry that you have to do that... Sorry that you're upset at that person... Sorry you have to work this weekend... Sorry I didn't drop everything I was working on to help you with your problem... Sorry I don't know the answer... Sorry that you lost your pencil... Sorry I'm breathing... Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

The more I say 'sorry,' the more I feel worthless. I feel like I'm taking up needed space, like I'm not good enough or worthy of anyone's time or attention. It's hard to break deeply embedded habits, so this year I researched and lettered instructions on how to work on and accomplish my resolution. 

Hope you all have a wonderful 2018! 

Older Than Dirt

I've heard that it's all downhill after you turn 25.

Like, one day you're a youthful 24 year old who is able to touch their toes and shotgun a beer with no adverse effects and the next thing you know you're 25 and in Urgent Care being told you have carpal tunnel. Awh.

(Side note: I have never been able to touch my toes and the one time I shotgunned a beer, I absolutely hated it... but hypothetically those are cool mid-twenty activities. The carpal tunnel part is relevant to my life currently though.) 

My dad said this to me on Christmas morning after I opened some anti-aging creme I was gifted...
Subtle. Real subtle.

Granny Dani WAS my nickname (that people said behind my back) in high school so I'm not super surprised I have a soul of a 80 year old and the face of someone recently deceased.

Tickets to the Gun Show

Have you ever did something as a joke but then somehow it stopped being a joke and just became a really important part of your self identity? I can't stop finger gunning everyone I see. It has become a habitual mannerism and it's so much easier than saying "hi" or "Good Morning!" or "Yo, Sup?" 

I just let my fingers do the talking and I keep walking. I kind of hate myself for being such a tool, but also, do I look really cool doing it??? Probably. 

I can't stop and honestly, I won't. Who knows, I might even make the hang loose Shaka cool again. (Or was it never not cool? I'll leave you to ponder that...)

*Finger guns* I'm out. 

Sweet Nothings

My favorite part of the weekend is the part where I spend the majority of my 48 hours of freedom sitting and doing absolutely nothing. I feel semi jipped weekend-wise because I have been super busy these past couple days. (Ugh, popularity!)

No, I had a good weekend filled with lots of art shows and open studios and my best friend's birthday party. I ate way too much good stuff this weekend too, like I ate an illegal amount of cake, I don't want to talk about it.

I went to the grocery store Saturday night and the cashier said the weirdest thing about my hair. I'm not surprised because almost everyday someone says something poopy about my hair, but I honestly had no idea how to react to this one...

Word for word quote. The young man had a way with the English language, that's for damn sure. 

A mullet?!? C'mon. No. 

Ugh. It's cool, you guys can keep calling me Amy Winehouse and asking if I ever done my hair "normally," I'll just be over here crying and keeping all my rude comments to myself because I'm decent and have manners. 

I must be sort of special to warrant constantly receiving the strangest, most honest observations about my appearance and/or self worth/character. Like, a bad kind of special, ya know? 

A random coworker said I should shed my current personality because it's much too high strung and stressful. Awh! Romantic. Will do. 

People are the BEST. Keep saying the weirdest things to me, guys. It's working.

The best photo background ever. The subject matter? Debatable. 

World Mental Health Day

Pick Me Up
(But seriously, I have given up on knowing what is coming up next.)

Hey there! Sorry for the lack of updates, it's not because there is a lack to update you all about. Things have happened, promise. More on that later.

Wanted to quickly post about World Mental Health Day because well... it's important. To me and to a lot of my loved ones. 

A ton of people comment that I'm pretty open about "what's wrong with me" and they are usually surprised (that I am willing to talk about it, not that I have a disease. That's obvious haha.) Mental health has a stigma and it's so awkward and weird to talk about. Like, if you have any sort of mental issue, people assume you're a psychopath. My brain's not healthy, but it's not all bad. Anyways... after silently suffering for a long time, being open about the downs in my life has really helped me connect with others and more importantly, my own self and my own truth. That sounds lame, I get it, but I don't think there is a way to make that sound hip or cool, so I am just leaving it. 

Art has always been a therapeutic experience for me (duh!,) especially hand lettering. Even though I have recently lost a lot of motivation and I have been described by some to "be in a rut," I am still really trying to make things whenever I have the mental energy. 

Last week I got Adam J. Kurtz's new book, Pick Me Up and honestly... the man can do no wrong. I have been ~mildly~ obsessed with him since college and wow, him making a feelings journal is basically dreams coming true. I have been forcing myself to sit down and draw or write at least once a day and I have been enjoying myself. (Side note: wow, what an eloquent book review.) 

I also sat down and made this quickly. It's a random quote I read somewhere that I typed into the notes on my phone (sorry, no source?!) but I obviously connected with it. This is not a call for help, so don't freak out. Like, seriously, I'm cool guys. 

Anyways, let's all be nice to each other and smile more and also be open to talking about all the feelings that we're feeling. It's okay to not feel okay. It's okay to be sad. 

XOXO,

D

This is another quote I made real, real quick. It's from Shameless when that drunk professor schools Lip on life. He says "We only have two jobs on this Earth: to learn and to cope." Ain't that the truth?

One Fourth Done

I try not to delve into personal matters on this platform, and I promise to not let this happen often, but I figured this is a pivotal point in my life and I should open up in case others feel similar ways about growing older. I want to be transparent about my insecurity with my age and my failure to measure up to the goals I set for myself and my career because I think we all glamorize what our lives actually are like. Like most people, I only present the positive aspects of myself online. You guys get to see the fun projects I am working on only when I choose to show you the fun projects I am working on. I don't post the tedious, frustrating freelance projects that are totally not my ~style~ that I'm totally not proud of (but that pay the bills) because I don't want you guys to see that stuff. You guys don't get to see all the ripped out sketchbook pages and all the hours I sit at my make-shift desk beating myself up for not being original or talented enough. That's just gross. I don't need anyone to pity myself as much as I already do. I don't want to be defined by that.

The point is, we are all so much more than the 2D, filtered version we post online. Our Instagrammed versions of ourselves are so colorful and perfectly cropped that you don't get to see the stained, hole-y sweatpants that are our actual lives. I love sweatpants! I love their comfortable practicability. I love the awkward, uncomfortable shame we feel when we wear them outside of the house- out of our comfort zone. I'm actually talking about my love for lounge wear while also talking about revealing vulnerable truths about our secret selves. Get it guys? C'mon. I was almost a nonfiction minor in college, metaphors are my bitches.

Just kidding, I dropped out of my writing classes because my classmates and teachers thought I was too depressing BUT I truly do love investigating why we are all the way we are. Why we see the world in whatever color glasses we chose to wear. Below is a little bit about myself that may explain better about who I am as a creative agent and as a regular old human being.

On the 4th of July, I turned 25 and I'm officially 1/4th of a century old. Ew. My. God.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with my birthday. They seemed magical when I was young (and when I thought the fireworks were for me) but as I got older, they felt way less special because I guess I realized I was way less special. That's how it is when your birthday is on a holiday. It's not really YOUR day, it's everyone's. It's not about you, it's about other peoples fun vacations and family gatherings and parties. And that's okay! That's how it should be! It never felt right to dictate what people should do on their day off just because I was born however many years ago that same day.

Independence Day is just like any other day of the year to a wrinkly, unborn baby who doesn't understand that the 4th of July is a drunkenly fun, sweaty holiday. I feel like I should make that clear because unborn baby Danielle didn't really choose to pop out with fireworks. A lot of people "oooooh" and "ahhhhh" about my birth date. A lot more people think I'm making it up- hospitals obviously don't deliver babies on national holidays! Absurd! And a few select call me "a little firecracker" or "Ms. Independence" or some other blush worthy nickname. Acquaintances comment that it's great to be born on a holiday because they'll always remember that that is my day. Awh, cute. But not the actual case, homies.

Although all the important people in my life remember my date of birth, a lot of people I wish did, don't. They are too busy entering hot dog eating contests or slurping watermelon slices or wearing patriotic clothing. My entrance into this Earthly whelm slips their mind because they are having so much fun celebrating America's freedom and enjoying their 3 day weekend and I'm honestly totally fine with that. It's nice that my DOB is associated with a carefree, glutinous day of the year. And no matter how much I try to deny that my birth date has any impact on who I actually am, it totally, completely does.

As a stubbornly firm believer of zodiac signs and astrology and personalities sculpted by the stars, I relish the idea that I have no control of who I am. That sounds bad but what I mean is that I love that I'm a crabby Cancer sign that hides in her shell of her home, who is protective over the ones that she loves, who puts up a hard exterior but is mushy, overly compassionate and sentimental as all hell deep down. I love that my best friend was born a day before me and my father was born a week after. I love that I'm surrounded by people who possess the same personality traits as me and understand who I am without really trying. And at the same time, it's hard. When more outgoing, loud, extroverted people don't get why I need to stay home and unwind after a day of work or socializing, I'm seen as boring or not fun. (I am both, but can't a girl have the benefit of some mystery?) When I am rerunning seemingly meaningless conversations in my head days after they happen, people say I'm obsessive or crazy but don't notice that I just really, really care about everyone I interact with. When people say I'm "short with them" or overly sarcastic, or just plain mean (LOL!) they don't see it as a defense mechanism to protect my overly sensitive self. I'm not complicated, I'm a textbook Cancer.

And since I'm overly analytical and "in my head" too much, I am hard on myself. I am no doubt a totally imperfect person. And I am no doubt my own, least favorite fan. But by not liking myself, I can motivate myself to be better than what I currently am. It's a tough pill to swallow when you're older than you ever thought you'd live to be. I never imagined being alive in my mid-twenties so picturing what I should be is really hard. I can only compare myself to the people who surround me and the people who surround me are really great, and really successful. Growing older and hitting "landmark" birthdays when you are no where as stable as your loved ones is just... annoying. I don't feel like celebrating my birth when I feel like I haven't accomplished anything worth celebrating. Everyone says age doesn't matter, but everyone also asks how old you are. And they automatically judge where you are in life and how successful you are based on their expectations and own experiences. It's human nature. We make life a competition and nobody wants a loser on their relay team.

I am a work in progress and I am a mess of puzzle pieces that are soggy and don't fit together. I am 25 now and I am trying not to barf every time I say that out loud. I am trying to let go of other people's expectations for myself and trying to make up my own to live up to. I am not defined by my age, my resume or where I have lived. 

Although I may hate my birthday and hate growing older, I am forever grateful that I was born on a day that celebrates independence. A day where we stood strong even though we stood alone. I don't like being held to expectations but I think it has set a nice precedent for my life.