We made it!! January one. New year, clean slate, fresh start--all of the colloquialisms you can shake a stick at. "Resolution" has such an ominous, demanding tone--and I fancy myself more "goal-minded" anyway. You've got to throw some intentionality at whatever you're chasing to make progress in this life--you can't will change to just happen. Writing down your goals is a decent start, but sometimes you have to clear away some of what bogs you down in order to pave the way for good.

Here are some of the tactics I've woven into my thought process as I ponder what I want out of 2019:

• Start with the easiest: write down what you want to achieve. Make it your own, start small--really consider yourself and how you want to grow--if you know you struggle with getting stuff done, do whatever you need to do to keep your goals measurable and achievable in increments. You're more likely to be successful in your pursuit if you have tangible steps outlined, written down, and yeah, even posted or visible somewhere to keep yourself accountable.
  
• Strongly reevaluate your screen time and what you're filling your feeds with. Even the most confident of people is weighed down by the fluffy posts inundating our social media streams. Take some time to purge your feed of anything that holds you back -- friendships that aren't building you up, stores that are draining your pocket, joke sites that are a waste of time. Keep it fresh, and curate it a bit to reflect the kind of person you're aiming to be.
  
• Commit to a daily ritual that keeps you grounded. It could be a morning prayer or meditation, or a walk and a podcast, or afternoon cup of tea while you take a couple minutes for some mindfulness, a consistent schedule for working out, a half-hour each evening for reading. Keep some routine in your day that drives you along as you pursue whatever it is you're aiming for. Even if the task isn't directly linked to whatever your goals are, the structure is good for you.
  
• Do your research. Read more about whatever it is you want to know more about. I love memoirs, personally, because I deeply love people. I love psychology and understanding why people do what they do. I love personal development because I want to spend my days becoming the absolute best version of myself. Identify what gets you going and stop at nothing to understand why. Not a reader? Find TED talks and podcasts to drive your focus. Seek out a networking event or organization to keep you accountable. Just do something.
  
• Keep an attitude of gratitude. Successful people attribute so many of their wins to mindset. About understanding they won't always succeed on the first go-round, and to trudge onward, undaunted. Find things you're thankful for and be vocal about it. Positivity is infectious, and you attract what you emanate. Remaining upbeat will drive your momentum and keep you on the walkway to your own wins.

Finally, check in with yourself. Reevaluate where you need to. Set calendar alerts for yourself at intervals--are you on your way to getting what you want, come April? August? Don't be afraid to share yourself with a mentor or close friend in an effort to hold you true to your goals.

My 19 in 2019 list is coming soon, but for now I want to know: what are you looking at 2019 for, for yourself?

Gah, blogging is such an ebb and flow game for me. I stick with it and mosey back here every couple of months because I love having the outlet. I love retreating to this little nest to just purge my thoughts into. I come up with ideas I want to write about constantly, almost daily... I just don't have the time or energy or need to pour it all out here on a consistent basis. I'm skeptical of people who post daily... I think part of me doubts that authenticity that I try to stay true to myself.

I dare say I'll never traipse into the world of fashion blogging. Can't really see myself ever transitioning into a mommy blogger--though, it's arguable that my obsession with my pups would be a great precedent for documenting the requisite chaos and cuddles with human children. Definitely don't have the patience or time to be a food blogger. So... where do I fit in? I've asked myself that for years when it comes to this scene.

What I've settled on--after being in the blogging game for about 15 years, give or take--is that I'll always just return here when something strikes a chord within me. Not to say everything poured out onto this page will be dripping with deep substance... but I can promise that when I write, it's because I want to have a voice about something, something that resonates--not merely stick to a schedule, or follow an expected cadence of post formats.

That said, more and more lately has been igniting me... beckoning to me to return here again in order to try and fit feelings onto a screen in an attempt to find some semblance of order and sense. Coming to terms with toxic relationships, the loss of McCain and what that means for our country's future, being shaped by a small town and the resentment and pride that encompasses that, drawing boundaries with people in order to become who I'm supposed to be. It's all swimming in my head, begging for some structure.

So... stay tuned. And thank you for reading still. 

The last month of my thirties was marked by all of the celebrations: the requisite birthday shindigs, with a side of revving up for the holidays too. And so, so much champagne.

November is traditionally my golden month: autumn is firmly in place, my birthday is at the end of the month, Thanksgiving has long been my favorite holiday... it's just unquestionably, the best thirty days of the year for me. December is much too bustly and anxiety-ridden, but November? November is all mine.

And for the highlights... I've upped my fundraiser game significantly in 2016--and had a blast at Taste of Nashville with friends I've grown closer to in 2016--and helped with Our Kids Hammer Down race early in the month. The dreaded election came and went, and we all held our collective breath for the duration of a Tuesday night--luckily, I was tipping back the bubbles at a surprise bridal shower I helped throw for one of my best friends that evening, so we had ample distraction from the circus. An obscene number of hours was spent skipping around my kitchen, prepping (that damn green bean casserole) for a handful of different Friendsgivings. I logged the last few outdoor runs of the season (thirty-one years and still not a morning person, so that ain't happening before work)--thankful the temperature and daylight savings time offered to be on my side for a bit longer. My sweet, sweet friends spoiled the hell out of me with--count 'em--four birthday parties. And I rounded it all out with the loveliest Thanksgiving here in Nashville with my sweet friend Morgan, and her adorable family.

All in all? Exactly what I needed. November was the proverbial bow on top of a pretty charming year, highlighted by friends who have thankfully and effortlessly become my family, showering me with their love, depth, laughs, and endless loyalty. "Friends" just seems like too hollow and generic a word for the category of people I've been surrounded by since moving her. Cheesiness, be damned: I am so, so thankful--every single day, I'm thankful.

At 31, I am still hopelessly in love with this town, its quirks, its magnetism--but undoubtedly, the absolute best element of my life are the people who I'm so unimaginably fortunate, love me as hard as they do.

Come at me, 31... I'm so ready for you.

I have come to crave this time of year--the weight of winter and lingering reminders of how much loss December is tinged with is like a wet down coat I can't wait to peel away. And yet, May ushers in it its own heartsickness. My mom's birthday is May 19th, usually the week after Mother's Day... two days of my year that are undoubtedly some of the hardest of my year, every year. My Mimi and my mom both died in December, almost exactly three years apart. Mimi practically raised me and my brother when we were really tiny, and honestly, losing her was every bit as hard--if not harder--than losing my own mother. And lately, my mind has been inundated with memories of the two of them... and it's just too much to wrangle. I'm a little bit of a shell--magnified by the endless racks of pink and Mother's Day cards and email reminders from florists that DON'T FORGET: MOTHER'S DAY IS MAY 8TH! It happens every year: the month of May just knocks me off my feet.

Wednesday after work, I just wanted to be outside with my little dog. To decompress, to get away from all screens, to do something else. Mother's Day is looming, and I just wanted to think about anything else. Anything at all. Upon surviving the commute, I robotically climbed into my running shoes, grabbed my headphones and her leash, and we moseyed to the greenway. I resisted the desire to jam the earbuds into my ears and check out--and instead stayed attune to the cadence of her little paws grazing the walkway. I fixated on the cardinals that seemed to flitter alongside us (cardinals always, always remind me of my Mimi). An uncharacteristically cool 57 degrees, we got lost in the endless sprouts of clover sidelining the trail, in the tangy familiarity of dill and honeysuckle, in the damp haze of the muddy earth at our feet. The earbuds dangled from my neck, unused, as we walked along the riverbank in sweet, relative silence.



It was the exact prescription I needed for that hour--an unexpected sanctuary that I was pulled into--if for no other reason than to break out of my routine. To be surrounded by the things that remind me of home, of my family, of two of the women who were at the forefront of molding me into who I am. Between the honeysuckle and cardinals, the springtime wrapping itself around us, I skipped back home and felt almost instantly better. Like this phase of life really is part of a master plan, and you know, maybe, it's not so bad. That I don't have my mom and grandmother anymore, that the memories of them aren't enough, but that they're mine--the memories and the women. I'll always be able to recenter and realign, and ultimately, I'm not straying too much from who I am. That it's all okay, and I'll always get back to me. Just channel your inner Scarlett O'Hara and take a deep breath, Megan.

It makes logical sense to think that the older you get, the more wisdom you attain, and the more solid you feel as a human being, an individual, who you are meant to be. I'm here to tell you that in a lot of ways, I'm more lost at 30, than I was at 20--even if that sweet ignorance wasn't exactly wisdom, it was enough to make me think I had it all together. In most ways, I am loving this stage of life... it isn't dripping with the murkiness of my 20s, I'm living life in a city I truly love, surrounded by deep and meaningful friendships, making big and little plans, and I have a better grip on what I want out of my time on earth.

But the past six months have been hard.

Being single for the first time since high school--not ultimately fun. Dating? An utter joke. Reigniting the beloved relationship I spent seven years in? Challenging (but good). Being homesick, shedding bad friendships, still trudging my way through a new-ish career path, and hoping I'll end up where I want to be in this life? All so overwhelming, to put it mildly. And when my mind trails back to the fact that my mom and grandmother are dead, it's all just too much. Way too much. It's been years after they both passed away, and typing the word "dead" in the same sentence where I reference these two feisty and women is enough to take my breath away... and now, the tears won't stop.



All of that to say, I have had some magnificent women in my life. My stepmom is an exceptionally strong and kind-hearted soul, and directly responsible for my becoming a bookworm and a bargain shopper, and will always be one of the first people I'd call in a crisis--especially about dog matters or cooking. ;) She is and has always been very good to me.

But still... the hurt is still raw when I remember them for more than a passing moment. Mom and Mimi. Connie and Paullettia. I baked a hummingbird cake on Wednesday night when we returned from our walk--my Mimi made them when I was little. Last night? I watched "Pretty in Pink" as I finished a workout--my mom lived for those quintessential 80s movies, and had a Molly Ringwald thing about her. I listen to the Eagles a lot when I miss my mom. I bake or sew when I miss my Mimi. I do all of these things in a desperate attempt to keep them alive somehow, to cling to the happier memories--the tangible things that I can clutch. To keep them here with me.

Back to our Wednesday walk. Halfway through the walk, we stumbled across a shattered tree trunk--an obvious result of the earlier thunderstorm. And it was a little too proverbial: broken bits strewn across an otherwise familiar path I've been navigating time and again. I stood over the wet wood shards for a while, actually laughed to myself at the imagery, stepped over the mess in a decision to stop taking everything so seriously. To stop thinking I can handle it all, to cut myself a little more slack. Deep breath: it'll be okay. And the love and wisdom I gained from these two incredible ladies will forever live within me too.




I know there's more than a handful of "not everyone has a Mom" articles floating around the internet... but I'm tasking you with remembering those who don't have someone to buy flowers for, or who'll be sitting at a graveside, instead of a brunch table or church pew. Mother's Day is way, way tougher on me than my mom or Mimi's birthdays, or even the anniversaries of their deaths. I think the heartbreak stems from watching seemingly everyone around me--my own friends now included--on this one exclusive, springtime Sunday, dedicated to loving and adoring moms everywhere. It's really hard for a lot of people... even years after they said their goodbyes. Just please keep that in mind as you're buying the gifts and planning the surprises. it goes a long, long way with the ones who aren't hugging their moms this weekend.

And that said? Happy, happy Mother's day to everyone, near and far. Moms, stepmoms, grandmoms, godmoms and second moms, new moms, dads who play moms, dog moms, those waiting to be moms and those who want so desperately to be moms. So much love to you... momming is hard, and you deserve all of the love and affection on this Sunday, and everyday. :*

That said--did you see Lady Gaga's performance last night? The somewhat recent focus toward our country's rampant sexual assault problem is inspiring and casts a sheet of hope over an otherwise cynical stream of news headlines. I really, really appreciated the fact that such a broad platform was accessed to shed light on this horrendous epidemic.




...and Brie Larson's embracing of every survivor yielded all of the sobs and firmly secured her place on my Girl Crush Island. That said, go see Room. She earned every single ounce of that eight-pound statue.

Also, Mad Max was so bad I left the room and I fell asleep during The Martian. Weeks later, I'm still thinking about The Big Short, Spotlight was utterly fantastic, and I think Julianne Moore and Olivia Wilde stole the show in the dress department.

And I can't wait to see Brooklyn and The Danish Girl.

Oh, and yay Leo. :| There's my recap.