The dictionary might describe family as those people we are connected to through “a common ancestry,” or in laymen’s terms, by blood. However, I think family extends beyond the veins that run under our skin. I think family can be described as the people who, by simply being in their presence, make us feel like we’re…home.
The Los Angeles Kings organization, their fans and the community we share together are what I consider my home.
I headed to SoulCycle this morning to get my mind off what I knew was bound to be a difficult day. Little did I know I’d end up leaving in tears and learning one of the greatest lessons of my life.
As today marks Mother’s Day, the class was packed with moms and their daughters, smiling, laughing and taking polaroid pictures at a little station the studio had set up to commemorate the fun morning. When they asked if I’d like to grab my mom and take a photo, I simply smiled and shook my head no.
I was alone.
It’s so intriguing how the universe works to paint the picture of our lives.
Today marks a Leap Year, which only happens every four years. Looking at my canvas last Leap Year, in 2012, my portrait includes me, happily in love with my ex-boyfriend, having just begun dating a few weeks prior (on Valentine’s Day, in case you don’t recall). If I had to guess, that picture was filled with pinks and yellows and bright colors of love and happiness and new beginnings.
Come Leap Year 2016 and my painting has changed tones: my canvas has faded, perhaps from spending too much time resting comfortably in the sun, taking on new shades of color and leaving space for touching up—or perhaps, for a whole new picture overall.
Let me explain.
I am far from perfect.
I know I’ve spent the last few posts preaching the importance of taking this time to really dig deep and love myself, but the truth is I haven’t even been following my own advice.
I wrote my last blog post over two months ago, and I spent a good portion of that time questioning all of my life decisions (so melodramatic of me, right? #PiscesProblems).
It’s been 45 days since I broke up with my boyfriend of three and a half years, and I’m watching as my life slides into an uncontrolled spiral filled with heartbreak and confusion and getting completely re-lost in a life I thought I’d already found.
And this is exactly what I wanted.
I want need to be perfect.
This is a concern I’ve had to extract from my thoughts time and time again.
It’s 1:55 A.M. Saturday morning. Or I guess, for most people, Friday night. I’ve eaten three and a half pieces of pepperoni-jalapeno pizza, drank three Belgium White Blue Moons and watched two movies: Anchorman and 500 Days of Summer.
