just alyssa

When I used to picture myself in my twenties, I always saw my life far more put together. I imagined I’d be engaged and on a strong career path. Never did I imagine staring down my 27 th birthday with a job I feel like quitting, an endless string of heartbreak that keeps repeating itself, an apartment with zero cabinet space, and still no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I definitely haven’t mastered the “perfect” relationship or even really figured out what I want in life, but what I have learned is that every single attempt at something, whether it be a relationship, a job, a paper for Grad school, or re-hanging the curtains in my room that keep falling, is absolutely worth it. What “26” has taught me:  Mistakes are going to be made. A lot. But admitting them and accepting them makes you a better person than trying to be perfect all the time.  Sometimes relationships aren’t perfect and they’re not going to last, but it doesn’t mean you have to accept bl...

When I was a kid, I dreamed that by 26 I’d be married, have a career, and would be starting a family. I dreamed of owning my own house and having a fenced in backyard for lots of dogs and kids to run in. I imagined I’d be settled in my plans and would have everything figured out. Yet here I sit, staring down birthday after birthday, having genuinely NO clue what I’m doing. I am a horribly unhealthy eater, to which my doctor has so delicately pointed out my weight gain in the past couple of years, and highlighted an exercise plan for me because I’m now considered in the “obese” category.  A huge thank you to that God-forsaken BMI. Exercise? Running alone sounds like an episode of criminal minds and going to the gym always results in that creepy guy that moves to the equipment behind you to stare at your ass. I see you, bro. I’m spinning in circles just trying to get my footing on at least ONE plan that I had. I can’t keep a relationship to save my life, yet I have ...

I loved you. And I never really understood how much that word weighed until I started carrying it in my pockets. I marveled at how it sunk deep into my vocabulary and took over every syllable left in my mouth. I tried so hard to plan out the confession and the speech I would deliver to you so beautifully. But that word, with all its weight, foiled those plans. Things changed quicker than I could exhale a breath. I was in the middle, before I saw it all begin. And that’s how fast love happens. It doesn’t politely knock on your door, or mail itself to you in an envelope, waiting to be opened. It just storms through your life and steals you. And then… On the phone, hours into a cool September night, I stuttered to you. I said your name. You were rambling and I had long stopped listening. In my head, all I heard was my own thoughts I love you, I love you, I love you. I said your name again. You stopped. A pause. A breath for me to deliver something eloquent. A...