The Glue

My mother. My mother is the glue that holds it all together.

I am convinced that my mother is the greatest woman who has walked this earth. She drives me insane. She is my best friend. If I was my mom, I would currently have a 4-year-old living in Crosby with my first husband that works too much. I also would work for an environmental lab. (What?) and be an Oilers Cheerleader. (Seriously?) I told you. Badass.

At 28, my mother divorced the largest narcissist on the planet and started her dance studio. Cool right? She met my step dad shortly thereafter. Thank god. Who knows where we’d be without him. He’s the rock. Mom is the glue. Maybe that’s why we get to explore all these other avenues of life. Dad will always be there to support, even if he knows it’s stupid. He’ll let you safely make the mistake and then so sweetly explain, ‘well that was fucking stupid. But I’m always here for you.’  Yup. Subtle. Thanks dad.

So clearly, this ‘well rounded’ thing didn’t start with me. But, Mom has always known her purpose in life is us. I just don’t feel that.

The questions still stand.

What is my purpose? Am I supposed to know?

Is anyone else waiting for some crazy miracle from the Bible to transplant itself into their life? At this point I feel like that’s the only way I’m going to actually know what my point is. God has a plan and a purpose for my life. Yes. I know. Read the Bible and pray. I DO! I could do it more. We all could. We all should. I definitely need to read it more and go to church. Maybe getting closer to God would allow me to know my purpose. But here’s where it doesn’t make sense to me: my purpose isn’t in the church… so why is that where I go to find it? Or maybe I’m just supposed to go to God in general, not the actual physical church. Yeah, that makes a lot more sense. I will. I’ll be there Sunday in the back row with no make up on, pen in hand, and a smile on my face as I eagerly listen to find my damn purpose here. Yes, this is what I do in church. Oh and I pretend to sing. Yeap, you do it too. I’ll be there on Sunday. Will you?

Turns out I didn’t go to church on Sunday. I got day drunk with my friends and had a complete blast instead. Drinking during the day is my favorite. I can still go to bed early and wake up the next day ready to take on the world. After I binge watch Orange is the New Black or Westworld of course.

I know God has a plan. And I trust it, I do. At the end of the day though, I have to make decisions. So how do those two things connect? I know they do, I just can’t figure out how. There is a plan, we make decisions and hope it’s the same as what God wants? How the hell do we know? I don’t. So, take your best leap of faith and if it sucks, odds are you’ll fall on your face, call your mom (or whoever your ‘glue’ is), cry, drink some wine, and move on to the next cool shit attempt. And then I’ll try again and again until I don’t fall.

Self Helpless.


Good thing this isn’t a ‘Self-Help’ blog. I am in no way a guru or someone to talk to in terms of getting help for yourself. I am a mess. But, what I have discovered in ‘Self-Help’ books is that everyone telling the story comes from some place dark… and then blossoms into the beautiful. I just haven’t blossomed yet, that’s all. AKA: not a self-help blog. It’s an, ‘I’m a mess and I bet you are too because you somehow ended up on this blog’ blog.

When I began this (insert whatever this is) it was a complete vomit of words, then it was  a journal, inspiration for myself, etc. As it began to take shape, I thought of something a wise young fourth grader told me. ‘Ms. Bocca this is ridiculous. My hand hurts, I’ve written the same paragraph 6 times, and I changed maybe 3 things.’ Yes, Elliot, you were right, I should have let you use a computer. Your pre-writing strategy was much more efficient considering you could quickly delete, copy, paste, repeat.

The most brilliant 10 year old on the planet shared a quote with me once:

“Reading is what you do when you want to escape where you have to be.”

Seemed she didn’t want to be in my class. Regardless, she learned from me and I learned from her. We grew. We continue to grow. This brings me to the one question this blog circles around: Are these little things the actual big stuff?

Join me as I hash through my experiences, downfalls, confusions, highs, lows, and everything in between. My hope is that as I benefit from the therapy of writing this, someone out there, maybe you, will benefit too. Becoming better with every step is the goal, right?

Also, YES. I have made my username livinginthegrey69. I’d like to point out that I did not realize these numbers would be on display. This unfortunate grouping of numbers is a running joke with me and my boyfriend. Everytime there is a password or number we are required to give, naturally 69 is the most fun number to provide. It typically warrants laughs, awkward looks, an eyebrow raise, or judgment from a stranger. There is nothing wrong with a little childish dirty humor. So, I stand strong in my decision to not change the numbers, because every time I look at it, it will make me giggle.


I will leave you with this:

The picture of the leaning tower of rocks does hold importance and symbolism. The literature teacher in me seriously geeked out on this one. Can you guess the symbolism in the tower of rocks?