Early Bird and All That

Sorry guys! I wanted to take off yesterday for the holiday…so I did!

Lately, I’ve been getting up early. Which is not the adult me thing to do. When I was a kid, I got up early all the time.

But not since I reached my twenties. So, now it’s weird that I’m finally giving up my sleeping in schedule. It feels like I’m cashing in my adult card. This is what adults do, right? They get up before their alarms go off? They putter around the house with a cup of coffee and read the news? I don’t know actually, I’m asking for a friend…

It just feels like staying up late is something you do when you’re a kid. Until you inevitably get caught by one of your parents, and get sent straight to bed.

But I’ve realized something. You can be any kind of adult you want! You can stay up late and get up early! Which…to be honest, I don’t recommend but you can totally do that. You can stay up late being productive, and you can get up early and be productive. Or like me, don’t be productive during any hour of the day! It doesn’t matter!

Just do what’s best for you and you’ll find that that’s the best you can do.

Love,

Bailey

New Year, Same Me

Ah, the early days of January.

The New Year is shiny and bright and it’s time to make New Year’s resolutions.

  1. Lose weight
  2. Lose some more weight
  3. Go running to lose weight
  4. And finally, tone up

And it’s really great for awhile. You get new jogging pants for the holidays and your running shoes lace on tight. And then, one thing leads to another and you just decide one day, probably a rainy day, that you don’t feel like running. And you think, it’s just one day. I deserve a day of rest after all.

Until it turns into two days, then a week, and then it’s February, March, April, May, June, and holy crap, it’s bathing suit season again.

Well, I’m here to tell you that I get it – that’s exactly what happened with this blog. I took a break. And then I took another one. And another one. And suddenly, it’s now 2020. Which is fine. Except…When I really looked back on my 2019, I couldn’t say it was all bad. I bought my first house, celebrated my first wedding anniversary, watched my sister get engaged, stayed at my great job, watched one of my other best friends get engaged, and just generally had a great time hanging out with the people I love.

But I didn’t have anything to show for 2019 either. I’m still writing a book that has taken me a decade to write. (I’m not even out of the first draft yet.) I usually keep a jar things I’m grateful for, and this past year, I had three things in it. Three. From a whole year!

So, I’ve decided to take this blog back. Back from the dust. Back from the hanging, snarled ivy. I love BaileyDailey, and I’m proud of it. I don’t even know who reads this besides my mom. But if you’re reading this right now, then I thank you.

But I want you to know, with all my heart, that your body will ALWAYS be ready for a bathing suit at any time, and please know that you can always start again.

So, here we go 2020. Bailey Dailey revisited.

You know the drill: I post Mon-Thurs, and I get the weekends off (to hopefully write my book).

Thanks, ya’ll. Cheers to starting over.

Love,

Bailey

Music I Grew Up On

What do Shakira, Avril Lavigne, and Alanis Morrisette have in common?

They’ve all been on my Ipod since around the 7th grade. And even though my headphones have changed (drastically), I am still listening to them and relating to them, on some level. Sort of.

Like, take today, for instance. I guess I really wanted to take a trip down memory lane because I turned on some Avril Lavigne. Way before her marriage to Sum41 band member or Nickelback frontman. I went back all the way to her first album “Let Go” and even her second album “Under My Skin.”

And at first I laughed hysterically at the fact that I remembered all of the words and where I was when I was belting them out about 10 years ago.

But especially while listening to “Under My Skin,” I was cringing too. Because a lot of the lyrics were really dark and angsty.

And I get it, teenagers sort of have that reputation, and I was a great sample representative of that stereotype, but I was simply relieved to realize that I no longer had those feelings anymore when I listened to the album today. I mean, I could definitely recognize what it felt like to feel like that. I could definitely remember why I could relate to what she was saying at some point in my life. But not anymore.

And sure, Avril definitely raised me. So, did Alanis. And Shakira. And certainly, Amy Lee from Evanescence, now that I think of it. These women raised me to grow up to become this really sassy, still angsty, dancey woman through their heartfelt lyrics and iconic tracks.

But now? I don’t have to listen to that music to feel like my feelings are being validated. And I think that’s maturity at work. Being able to listen to a song without feeling like someone stole my personal diary and is singing my feelings is a tremendous step in the right direction toward adulthood. (But that certainly doesn’t mean I can’t sink into a bubbling bath of pity every now and again by pressing play.)

The point is now I can start focusing on what I want to say instead of someone else singing it through my speakers. But the music I grew up on certainly gave me the courage to say it in the first place.

(Writer’s) Blocked

As I’ve mentioned before, everyone has their way of interpreting/interacting/dealing/making sense of/ the world. When painters try to make sense of their world, we get impressionist art. When musicians try to escape themselves, we get blues (oddly, a collaboration in suffering.) But when poets try to interact with their reality, society, more often than not, receives really bad metaphors. Like these: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/08/high-school-analogies-20-_n_1332745.html

However, as bad as these analogies are, they represent a solid attempt. They exist, and therefore, can be edited into something great. They are proof that these students tried to make sense of their world and won. They are the first step.

And therein lies the problem with writer’s block: it is an unaffordable luxury. It would be nice to think that every time we didn’t know what to say or write or do, we simply wouldn’t have to say or write or do anything at all. If we could just button our lip until the moment passed us, or keep staring at our phones until the person we don’t want to talk to passes, then maybe we wouldn’t have to think about anything for the rest of our lives.

Except, those moments and people keep coming. And at some point, you are going to have to embrace the world. Interpret/interact/deal/and make sense of it, too. And trust me, the world doesn’t play nice with people who consistently say, “I forgot my homework.”

Dealing with writer’s block is as easy as admitting to yourself that it doesn’t exist. It is as easy as saying that I choose to stop suffering from it. (Which, of course, is like saying that it is exactly that easy and exactly that hard. Since you are relying on yourself, you determine the speed with which you are able to erase writer’s block from your life. This could take minutes, hours, or a lifetime. Results, however, will not vary. You will be free of it as soon as you want to be free.) It’s just about deciding not to accept it.

Oh, and in case you were thinking that this doesn’t apply to you because you don’t “write,” I use “writer’s block” in a more general sense to mean a drought in creativity or otherwise lack of liveliness and enthusiasm that one possesses to reach certain achievements and goals. So, this means you are suffering from writer’s block any time you are stuck in a situation you don’t want to be in but are unable to get yourself out of.

And here’s the cheesy metaphor part of this: you are the author and the hero and the villain of your own story. If you need to write yourself out of a particularly painted corner, then you can do it. It’s just a matter of not accepting writer’s block for what it is (a temporary obstacle, a self-imposed limitation) and allowing yourself to overcome it. Write your life’s story in permanent ink, believing that you can truly make no mistakes and you won’t.