Friendship.

I've spent a lot of time wishing that I had the friendships like those in movies, the "ride or die" friendships. I've always wanted to sit on a huge porch, at age 60, with lemonade and the one person that I have always been able to be honest and open with.

I was convinced that those friendships had to be flawless and unfailingly positive. I had no intention of believing that "real, life-long friends" argue and grow apart in order to rebond and grow together. My reality was based on the fallacy that is Hollywood. Women in movies are so outrageously lesbian-ish. They rarely wipe their asses without first consulting their friends about what type of toilet paper to use. They have slumber parties every weekend. They never take their husbands anywhere and they manage to attend the same yoga classes, live on the same block, and wear the same size everything!

So, I've spent all 23 of my years searching for that friendship. The friendship without bumps, bruises, and blunders. But eventually, the Hollywood facade must fade away and authenticity serves as a default that liberates even the most brainwashed "friend seekers". To put it simply, I really had to get over myself and embrace the reality that if I spent the rest of my life searching for this utopia friendship, I was going to die lonely and fat.

No. My friends and I don't have slumber parties every weekend. We don't paint each other's toes or brush each other's hair on Saturday nights while watching the Little Mermaid. We are grown ass women with obligations, bills, relationships, problems, unhealthy obsessions, untameable libidos and all kinds of unattractive attributes. But, when it's all said and done, we are there for each other.

I have known one of my dearest friends for more than 13 years. That's really rare for someone my age, but I am grateful that-in spite of our differences-we manage to check in on each other and wish each other well. Another friend, who I met later in life, is one of the most sacrificial, beautiful women I have ever met. She has saved my butt...one too many times from the pits of depression and lack. And I could never repay her. Literally. But still, she loves me.

I am lucky to know women who host me in their homes, feed me delicious food, and always know how to provide me with the reality checks that I so desperately need. My friends may not go to yoga with me every Tuesday, but they love me beyond description.

And that's real.

Are You There God? It's Me...

I call His name in the middle of the moments that burn the worst, hoping that I will actually get the slightest response in the form of a pot falling or a bird chirping. I wait for Him to interrupt my day with a random bolt of lightning that signifies the beginning of a life of abundance. But God...doesn't check His own voicemail and whatever administrative assistant He does have needs to be fired. I've been trying to be gentle yet persuasive, but the gentle angle must go. There are some things that I need and I need them now. Like a purpose.

Not the philisophical purpose that I have previously carried around in my left pocket like an emergency flashlight, ready to lead the way to victory and fulfillment. I mean a "day to day" purpose. I need to feel like I am contributing something to this flat world. And the truth is, I don't feel that way. Not often enough anyway.

When I was a little girl, I was so sure that by 23 I would be feeding whales or saving penguins or housing the homeless. I thought that I would be fighting for human rights or using journalism to fight oppression. I thought that I would be working for CNN or The New York Times. But instead, I am viciously disappointed in mainstream media and I am not really sure how to do anything about it. I am a paycheck away from being homeless myself and needing someone to house me. And I can't feed a damn whale because I can barely afford to feed myself.

So. Where do I go from here? If you can hear me God...days like these confuse the hell out of me.
And I sincerely pray that tomorrow will be a better day. Not just for me, but for everyone who has been leaving urgent messsages on your answering machine.

Dedicated to the 20-Somethings

I know it hurts to dream of better days. I know that the ability to open your eyes in the morning and see life with optimism, is fading into nonexistence. I know that you often wonder what your purpose is and why you're here. We all do. And even though we robotic ally stroll through each day hoping no one will figure out that we're faking our way through life, there is a pain that surfaces when no one is watching. There is doubt and there is denial.

These are times like none we have experienced before. Nothing is certain and everything is questionable. Our hands burn from filling out job applications for positions that we hoped we would never need. Our eyes sting from calculating the balance due for all that we use to survive. (Electricity bills dance through my dreams while I sleep). It's all so much less funny than it used to be. There is no punch line when everyone I know is standing in the unemployment line at 8am, hoping to receive a little relief for the next few weeks.

I know it seems impossible to aspire to quench the fire in your gut when everything you want seems so unattainable, so unrealistic. It isn't easy to be a part of a generation of students who are graduating into nothingness. We used to laugh about the idea of moving back into our parents' houses. We use to talk about what kind of cars we'd be driving at 25. We talked about retiring at 30. I talked about being wealthier than Oprah by age 40.

And now all I talk about is the damn water bill (which is $115 by the way).

I didn't ask for this life. I didn't ask for these circumstances and I know you didn't either. But, I'm here to tell you...and myself...that there is no way that this drought will last forever. There is no way that this life will fail us all. Though my day dreams are now few and far between, I will continue to believe that all that I've ever hoped for is reachable. And I hope you'll find a way to do the same.

Frozen by Fear

Numbing, brain-shattering, tear-drying, snot-inducing fear washes over even the most victorious of us during days like these. There is a level of doubt that will erase even the most beautiful of accomplishments and wash away the confidence that birth gave to each of us. When the next day is not promised and the current moment seems shaky, we all have a tendency to look to the sky and surrender ourselves. Eyes enlarged, arms stretching wide-as if to receive a blessing, and head tilted back waiting on an idea or a sign...or a purpose. This is the current stance of our country. America, as a land mass, is waiting. America, as a collective of people and cultures, is waiting.

The fear is capable of keeping each of us from everything that we have ever dreamt of becoming. It's enough to keep a writer from creating and a painter from sharing. These are the days of uncertainty. These are the days when the wildest of men pray to be more practical, dreamers are abandoning sleep in hopes of finding a means to pay the rent. Fear is replacing the simplicity of love. All that we love to do, all that we seek for solace, is being tucked away in an attic of optimism-stored for brighter days.

When the world becomes so cold that smiling seems like an unnecessary extracurricular activity, we shall perish. Because this fear, this mind-altering fear, is the only emotion that I cannot endure. I would rather be angry enough to burn down my own house....or pained enough to cry a bath tub full of tears than to be afraid of what the future has for this nation. For my generation.

Forgive me for the philosophical tirads. I can't write about Saturday night drunkenness or the purse that I saw at a swanky boutique yesterday. I cannot write about sexual escapades and the love affair I wish I were apart of. I can't post details about celebrity lives that I know nothing about....not right now I can't. Because I am too busy relentlessly pursuing the truth. I am too busy wondering why I attended a university for 5,000 semesters in order to find a "dream job" that no longer exists because of the recession and hiring freeze. I am too busy trying to make sure that my tomorrow is brighter than the analysts predict it will be. I wasn't born to watch this world fall apart and do nothing about it.

I may not have the billions that it takes to make sustainable change in this world, but I have my ways of spreading positivity. I refuse to be frozen by fear. I refuse to just sit still and let this life and this recession happen to me. Being real through language and using words to share a significant message...is my purpose. I'm comfortable with that now. And I intend to be as real as I can, for as long as I live.

What I Miss About Childhood.

I miss the summers that lasted forever. Winter was only two days long and even it was blissful. I miss the days when every stranger was harmless and caterpillars were able to take my mind off even the most lofty burdens. I miss peaceful Saturdays with my mom.

The Saturdays that I lived for...with a woman I couldn't live without. I miss Santa Claus and his mysterious habits. He had the ability to transform poverty into a plush, picture of abundance. I miss love in the sweetest form. No sex, no complications...just friendship and cookies and flashlight tag.Childhood had a way of teasing me, tugging at me, and making me believe that it wouldn't disappear into the abyss of memories. I thought that I would have it forever. I thought that we would be together and laugh at the obligations of today. But life doesn't work that way.

Eventually, you wake up to an alarm clock and a spouse...in a house that you don't remember buying with a mortgage that you couldn't have possibly agreed to. Eventually, every stranger is suspicious and every caterpillar reminds you that you need to call the exterminator because summer is around the corner. And the thought of summer makes you sigh with exasperation and frustration pours from your pores because you have to research summer camps for the kids, you have a list of "to-dos" and "wish I dids". There's no more time for flashlight tag or water day in the backyard. There's no more time for laughter and chatter and chocolate.Because chocolate is now the enemy. I swear, adulthood doesn't make any sense to me. Womanhood is even more of a mystery. We all used to love chocolate. We used to eat Hershey's bars until our tummies ached, now we do crunches on a yoga mat until our bellies ache. Geesh. What for, I ask? What for?

The little girl inside is yearning for an opportunity to jump on a trampoline again. She wants to spend the night at Lindsey Rabidou's and watch the sun rise with her 5 "best friends" (all of whom she would die for). Those were the days. We all examined ourselves in the mirror every five minutes, claiming to be so fat but never being able to prove how we came to those conclusions.I miss all of that. I miss that optimism I had when nothing was tragic enough to steal my joy. Every boy was "the boy" and pink was my power color. Seventeen magazine was my novel of choice and I was fearless. Back then, I knew the world was mine.Now, I'm just trying not to lose my mind. I miss childhood...