It's November 24th

On sharing what's real.

Dear reader, I come to you with my proverbial tail between my legs. Why? Because I made a promise and I knew deep down, I couldn’t keep it. See that’s the thing with the pace of life these days. There’s never enough time. Never enough hours in the day, or money in the bank. Everything feels like it’s in a deficit. Most projects that enter my orbit are either lacking in time or money, or both, and of course in the midst of it all, we tell ourselves we can show up in ways we can’t. Why is that? Delusion, possibly, but I prefer thinking of it as hopeful optimism.

Of course, I can’t manage a substack-a-day cadance for this writing thing. Let’s BFFR.

ME (to me): Did you forget you were a world-traveling-artist-creative-itgirl-extraordinaire? You think you can write and post daily? In-between trying to be a good friend? a good daughter? a good niece? a good older sister…. and trying to still believe in love (???) as you traverse the most hazardous of dating pools in 2025 (I swear this was just a BAD year), trying to keep up with current events (lol), trying to show up for your wider community, not to mention navigating being bi-coastal, living between the two most fast paced, most expensive cities in the world…. (that was ambitious of you, btw) and trying to actually be good at your job (which is to tell stories for brands and artists), as well as to tell your own stories (can’t forget about those), not to mention trying to actually finish writing that bloody feature film you’ve been harping on about for the best part of two years (and counting) and don’t even get me started on the multiple short films that have been birthed and died a premature death at your hands.

Well….. When I put it like that, it feels like I’m both thriving and failing. And on top of all that bullshit, I’m expected to document my life and all the chaos for the world to see, or it doesn’t count, right? My perspective shifts, back to fail. Then to thrive. Then to fail.

I oscillate between the two. And the truth is, it’s my best moments that act as the fuel that allow me to keep going, despite the many ways in which I feel like I’m failing. I think we’re all constantly failing at something, anyway, so maybe that reality check helps.

I know it’s the showing up that matters. I spoke about this before. And so even though I’ve been hard on myself, I push the shame aside and I tell myself that I’m showing up, here, again. I’m being vulnerable, open, and I’m ready to write. Fun fact: Today, you find me sitting on a plane traveling from one city to another. Both are home now.

I’ve gone back and forth with myself about how to use this space. I love the slow nature of substack. It reminds me of wordpress and blogspot back in the day. I know though, that this time around, I can’t go full on journal-mode. I can be vulnerable, but the inner, deepest corners of my mind feel far too delicate to expose on the internet. I also feel keenly aware of those who may use these words against me, to hurt me. This is a sad reflection of the times, indicative of the climate we’re in currently. No space is truly safe except for the pages of my journal, and even those I guard tightly every day.

The idea of the ‘online persona’ and the version of ourselves that we share in places like this is what gives shape to this new layer of storytelling; It’s about 50% honest vulnerability, and 50% conscious vulnerability. Being careful not to say names, or places, or my raw, unfiltered take. Just like the celebrities of the past, we’re all now responsible for our own sphere of influence and it’s wider impact. And with that, we’re all at the mercy of being cancelled, or worse, ridiculed online. Or for opportunities to be taken away from us based on what we say. There are even risks around what you share online and how that could impact your immigration status.. yikes.

The truth is, the internet (and the world at large) just doesn’t feel as safe anymore. Our thoughts aren’t safe. Our bodies aren’t safe. So, I’ll probably save those more revealing entries for my written journal (and honestly, lately I’ve been better than I have been in years about scrawling my chicken scratch thoughts-and-feels onto those pages every time I get the feeling of being overwhelmed— Or maybe I’m just more overwhelmed than I’ve ever been?) Online, I share the parts I’m willing to- the parts that feel safer, and those live here, with you, reader.

I think, though, this space deserves to still be a place of true vulnerability. Or what’s the point. Perhaps it can be a space to hold the thoughts that are a little more polished than the emotional scribbles I will physically write but never share. Let’s call this the in-between. Part-musing (on the state of the world, society, and things that I’ve been thinking about) and part honest journal. An archiving of the state of my mind in the here and now. I’ll take that risk for the sake posterity.

I can feel (deeply) that this time in my life is one of transformation. I have no clue what’s on the other side, but usually when you find yourself shedding things and moving past old patterns, something good is coming (even though it feels absolutely awful while it’s happening).

And so, I think it’s important to talk about how I feel on here. In a way that feels real. Not just for you, reader. But for me, as a way to stay accountable to all that I feel and think. As a way to archive my state of mind in this pivotal moment in my life. And as a way to connect, to reach forward, arms outstretched, towards others who read these words and feel something because of it.

Until next time. (I promise not to overpromise again).