To All the Men I’ve Loved Before: Thank You, Next

Tom. Trevor. Kyle. David.

That feels so fucking good.

You see, I never expected to write a post in which I used your actual names. I envisioned a blog I’d title something vague—Letters to My Exes and Ohs, for example—and use specific memories or words I thought you’d recognize to indicate which ex I was referencing in that letter.

But then Ariana Grande came through with a song that empowered me to speak to you directly (I’ll pause for your laughter over the fact that a pop song influenced me to write today. Welcome to the mind of Kendall Fisher! Lol). And even better—this song is almost exactly the way I’ve written all those letters to you in my head time and time again.

Society has set this precedent that you’re supposed to hate your exes. But I’ve never agreed with that.

All I’ve ever wanted to say was…Thank you.

So grab a glass of wine or whiskey or tequila (you all differ in taste). Here’s a toast to you: Continue reading

A Letter to You, Sunshine

Dear Sunshine,

Two years ago on Valentine’s Day I started a post dedicated to you, but I never quite finished it. I don’t know if it’s because I couldn’t find the courage or the right timing, or if I simply wasn’t entirely confident in how I wanted to go about writing something so important to me—to perfectly embody all that you are.

And tonight it hit me: It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be from the heart. Everything you do shines from your heart.

So, here’s how the post began:

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We All Wake Up Depressed Some Days: Here’s What Inspired Me to Push Forward

“Sometimes the greatest picture a photographer takes is when he turns around and captures what’s behind him.”

A talented artist named Blue Fier—yes, that’s Blue as in the color, and Fier as in fire, and his name is just one of the many things that make him truly unforgettable—explained this to me last year, about two hours after he’d taken one of the most stunning photos I’d ever seen of Pier 5 in the San Francisco Bay.

The wood panels lined up horizontally, perfectly in place as the fog caused the streetlights to take on star-like figures with a sheet of royal blue providing an immaculate backdrop. To be honest, it’s something we’ve probably ogled over before (no offense, Blue), and yet it still managed to catch me off guard, taking my breath away for a split second as I fell onto that path of illuminated blues and golds.

Then I realized: It wasn’t just the photo. It was the story behind it.

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My Mom Died 7 Years Ago: The Truth About Why I Stopped Trying to Let Go

It’s been seven years, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

It was sometime after midnight, and I was wearing an oversized blue sweater with a pair of pink Victoria’s Secret sweats that I stole from her closet. My sister and I were each clenching tight to one of her hands, while my brother sat on the couch across from us with his elbows on his knees, hunched over in disbelief but prepared accept whatever was about to come his way. He was 16. My dad sat at the end of her bed, probably rubbing her feet—she always loved when he did that—but I couldn’t tell you for sure because I didn’t have the courage to look his way in those moments.

Her breathing had slowed, but with each inhale we could hear the agonizing sound of water that had begun filling her lungs—a sign the inevitable was about to come.

And within minutes, the inevitable did come.

My mother took one final, slow breath.

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I Was Afraid of Your Judgment and That’s Why I Didn’t Write for 6 Months

 

It’s been six months since I sat down and found the courage to write what’s really been going on in my life.

It’s certainly not because I didn’t have anything to write about, and it’s absolutely not because I lost my passion for writing. In fact, I’ve had to feed my appetite for blogging by posting little thoughts and poems on my Instagram account when I just couldn’t bring myself to put it all out there.

The truth is, I was afraid.

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I’m With Love: My Opinion on the 2016 Election and Why You Need to Vote

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I will be voting for Hillary Clinton tomorrow.

I would guess about 50% of the people that originally clicked this link just exited out: 10% who don’t care what I have to say about politics, 20% who are Donald Trump supporters and 20% who simply don’t give a shit about voting tomorrow or this election or hearing the names Clinton and Trump until this whole “mess” is over.

Well, the 10% can go about their merry way. I’m no political expert, and I would never pretend to be, but I’m allowed my own opinion just as you all are allowed the option to stop reading. However, I know one of the reasons I’ve found success with this blog is because I’m candidly myself, and I don’t hold back. I thought twice—no, probably three times—about whether to write about this, but I know I’d regret not staying true to myself when it comes to something that’s this important to me (I know—gasp!—it’s not just boys and wine and soulcycle).

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