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that one guy’s birthday…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

Chw and I went out of town for the weekend. We stayed in a beautiful hotel, our bed was the closest thing to a cloud I’ve ever slept on, we ate delicious food, went to a super fun event, the weather was better than it’s been as of late–all in all, it was perfection… This morning before we checked out, we popped into the hotel restaurant for some breakfast. Initially, we thought we were the only patrons until a booming voice came from around a corner as we passed, “yeah, I’m here because it’s my birthday!” He was seated at a table alone, but we soon noticed he was wearing Bluetooth headphones.

For the majority of our breakfast, we were treated to the very loud, one-sided conversations of this guy phoning person after person to tell them it was his birthday. It was hilarious. To be honest we ranged from annoyance (I’m not a fan of people talking on the phone in public) to feeling sorry for him, spending his birthday alone, and having to be the one to call others to let them know. It all seemed so sad. However, as I continued eating my egg, chorizo, and avocado burrito the narrative in my head began to shift.

Why was it sad?

Was he lonely? it definitely seemed like it, especially once he had exhausted his contact list and called over the server to tell her it was his birthday, ask her if her kids were out of school for break yet, and tell her what he wanted to do to celebrate his birthday in this city.

Even so, who am I to project shame on someone for spending their birthday alone, or calling people to tell them it’s their birthday?

I am no one.

I’ve had my fair share of wonderful, fun, full birthdays, and I’ve had a few lonely ones too. Birthdays are hard and this guy was owning his like a beast. I am an advocate of birthdays and by the time we signed our tab, grabbed our bags, and began to walk out, this guy had moved to hero status. I have no idea whether the prospect of his day was a sad bummer or an independent adventure. The one thing I had matured enough to realize is this guy was NOT ashamed to let people know it was his special day! He was not ashamed to be celebrating the day alone.

There is something really powerful about setting aside our own perceptions and projections to see the situation of another person simply as it is… it’s not always easy to do, and clearly, I am not perfect at it. Happy birthday to this guy out there exploring an Ohio city in the sleeting rain and snow… And yes, as we did walk out I paused, looked at him, and wished him a happy birthday. He was so happy, his smile beaming from ear to ear.

From a few feet ahead of me, Chw said “I knew you were going to do that!” and that made me happy too…

what a pain in the boob…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

Let’s talk about boobs, shall we?

Not the sexy type of boob talk though, the annual mammogram kind. The check your titties for cancer or abnormalities kind…

In late 2020 I had to go in for my yearly mammogram. These were the days when remote working was normal and the majority of us were still avoiding supermarkets or restaurants. While I had no issue wearing masks, (and to clarify, I still have no issue) I was unprepared for what wearing a mask while undergoing this exam would be like. Roughly a third of the way through I began to hyperventilate.

This was not normal for me. I was no stranger to the experience. I’d been getting annual mammos since I was twenty-five years old, and several years had me getting two or three… but suddenly one pandemic happened and I couldn’t manage to get through one without falling apart.

“It’s ok, it’s happening to everyone. We’ve actually had several women pass out.” the tech’s reassurance was sweet, but it still didn’t make any sense.

“Oh no,” I tried to smile as I explained, “It’s not the test exactly. This isn’t normal for me, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s the mask.”

I stared at her. The mask? “Why?”

“It seems to be triggering a fight or flight panic response when women are holding their breath and locked into the x-ray machine unable to move. A panic attack is a pretty mild response honestly.”

And suddenly it made sense.

With my newfound wisdom and experience, I shared this information with everyone. Several women came back to me, grateful that I’d helped prepare them for “such a difficult experience.” and that made me happy. Admittedly a little less happy when the radiologist informed me they’d seen an abnormality and I’d have to come back.

Of course, they did…

That was over a year ago and the second one was shorter, and since I was more prepared, it went better.

Fast forward to Tuesday… Tuesday I went in for my annual mammogram again. This time I knew exactly what to expect. I was a pro at the masked mammo by this point. What I wasn’t prepared for was the volume of nerve and pain sensitivity my ME/CFS has elevated me to. Suddenly the mask was the least of my worries. Instead, I sobbed, vomited, and really had one heck of a patient tech get me through what was one of my most painful experiences to date.

The moral of the story is that sometimes we have to endure the awful stuff in a measure to take care of ourselves, I guess. But also, if they call me again and tell me I need to go back I may decline. My insurance doesn’t cover anything beyond the first anyhow, and I love myself enough to not want to go through that level of pain again for a very long time.

Being a woman really sucks sometimes… Being a woman with a chronic illness who relies on an industry that is hesitant to hold space for women and/or chronic illnesses, can feel isolating, lonely, and defeating.

Here’s to changing that, advocating for ourselves (and each other!), and having healthy breasts… The next time I fly can’t that TSA machine just check my boobs out???

on the madness of March…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

I know March Madness refers to College Basketball but honestly isn’t March really one of the most unpredictable months? I love March… Many of my favorite people were born in March. I was born in March. Spring teases us with color in March, before Winter comes popping in to let us know she’s not quite through with us yet… But also, March has always carried this odd , unpredictable energy.

For example, while I’m not one to usually fall down the stairs, if I did, it would happen in March.

Listen, it DID happen in March and it was brutal. My tail bone was solid black and later that day I had seven hours of airplane travel to endure. Not the best day ever… We hadn’t been planning a trip, it just rapidly unfolded and suddenly we were packing a suitcase to share. My husband had just been in Idaho for a family emergency some weeks before and realized he now has air travel anxiety and would prefer to never fly again. I hadn’t flown since the end of 2019, and so my anxiety wasn’t loving the idea of it either. All of the videos filled with difficult people on planes and in airports were what I stressed about… but it was fine. It was all fine. His anxiety was a bit rocky and I felt bad for him. Also, my tailbone kept me teetering between sobbing like a small child and wanting to jump from the plane… but it was fine.

We were fine.

We made it, and life was good. And while we were traveling something wonderfully magical happened! I was able to share the book cover for my impending release Girls, Assassins, and Other Bad Ideas. (August 22, 2022 through Burning Soul Press)

I’m absolutely in love with this cover! IN LOVE!

I was also reminded that in the midst of so much divisiveness there are still people who can disagree about things like religion, politics, and vaccines and yet somehow still manage to share civil conversations and respect for one another. This glimpse of the old-world ways really caught me off guard… it was beautiful. While I believe the things I do, these beliefs are mine based on my experiences and knowledge. Who am I to tell you your stance is wrong simply because you haven’t traveled the same journey I have?

I hope this becomes a trend and we can once again aspire to be bridge builders…

This month, in addition to my book cover, celebrating birthdays, and a few fun little day trips to Cleveland and Pittsburgh, I also published my first guided journal/workbook, Cupcake, a Guided Companion for Cake. (Cake is my ebook guide published last year.)

All in all, amidst the craziness and complete busyness that was March, it was a beautiful month. Perhaps the first truly beautiful month from start to finish, that I remember having for so long… I’ve had conversations in the past day or two with others who feel the same. This has to be a sign right– that things are finally changing?

Maybe I’m just being hopeful… then again, I guess that beats the alternative.

this is forty-six…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

At 6:38 this evening I will turn forty-six.

Forty-Six.

We’ve been having the sort of conversations where we look back at points in our lives and say “wow, my parents seemed so old when we did _____________ but they were the age we are now!” or worse, “… but they were younger than we are now.”

This is just what we say now.

Age is such a funny thing really. There was a period of time when I was convinced I’d surely have my crap together by forty and yet I am here to tell you that as I wake today, turning six years past that point, my crap is most assuredly not together. Maybe we only really figure it all out when we’re about to be Game Over. It certainly feels that way.

I write this while I’m sipping an afternoon iced coffee and also subconsciously questioning the wisdom in such a decision. I’ve never been one for gambling, but at this stage in my adulthood every time I partake in coffee it feels like a giant game of dice rolling risk:

will it wake me up with an energy kick? (also, why am I so tired at 2 in the afternoon?)

will it destroy my stomach and leave me wishing I were dead?

will it do nothing?

I’d throw in other options for fun, but honestly, it will only be one of those three and more than likely the second one because this is who I am now.

Adulthood! Am I right???

When I was in my twenties and dreaming of big risks like skydiving, backpacking through a foreign country, or deep-sea diving I was certain by now I’d be collecting countless risky adventure stories and living my best life. Instead, I traded in every opportunity and desire for such things for a failed stint at motherhood. Today the biggest risks I’m likely to take look like sleeping with a new pillow or braving Costco on a Saturday.

Well, and iced coffee in the afternoon apparently…

Or the spicy Dominican restaurant I’ve heard so much about. (IYKYK)

Here’s the truth though–as much as I miss dreaming of carefree and life-threatening risks (not of the coffee variety) I’m pretty ok with where I m today. I’m ok with forty-six. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love this old neck of mine to be a bit more flexible with pillows, and I prefer Costco on a Tuesday evening, but of the deeper stuff… I’m a big fan.

I know who I am today, and that girl dreaming of jumping from an airplane had no clue who she was. It’s safe to say that up until a small handful of years ago I still hadn’t a clue, though I’d wager I was getting closer. I no longer need the approval of others. I no longer fear failure because I understand the necessity of it–the richness of it.

I spent so long, as a writer, angry at myself that I didn’t have it together enough to finish (and publish) a book. Yet today, as I gather promotional items, work on edits, and prepare for my memoir to release in August I realize that it came just when it should have. One year shorter and it would have been something less than it is.

At forty-six I can relax. I can comprehend that problems are not likely knitted with the urgency they once seemed to have been comprised of. At forty-six I’m sleeping better than I have ever slept, and carrying myself with more confidence than I ever have. It turns out that feeling confident has nothing to do with what size you wear, how not-grey your hair is, or how your economic status plays out in your portfolio. Who knew?

At forty-six I understand that moments truly are the beautiful bits that comprise a life. I’ve dealt with enough nonsense from others that I have no problems insisting on a boundary, cutting my losses, and moving on.

Last weekend we went to the Van Gogh exhibit with friends. I wore a flowy sheer-floral ruana and my biggest cocktail rings. At one point, mid-laughter, I asked how I was doing channeling my best Mrs. Roper vibes and laughter ensued. My husband lovingly assured me I wasn’t “even close” to Mrs. Roper, but suddenly I realized I didn’t care if others thought I was. I didn’t care. I was comfortable, filled with joy, and living my best life. If that screams Mrs. Roper’s appearance then more power to us both!

I love floral dresses, floral coverups, and giant gemstone jewelry.

I love crystals, tarot cards, Jesus, Dan Levy, and puppies.

I am who I am and the biggest gift about being this age is accepting that and not changing my interests based on what is trending or someone else’s approval.

Wherever you’re at today, and however you are, I hope you can love yourself and accept this moment as authentically as it is. This has to be the definition of truly living because otherwise–what’s the point???

the magic quadrant…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

When I logged on to my WordPress account today to lay out a few small words within this often neglected space I saw the words Magic Quadrant. Magic Quadrant... As I quickly clicked through the pages my brain took in those words just as the screen changed. I quickly assumed it was in relation to some WP-related workshop or other, but honestly, I don’t know.

Clearly, I found the words intriguing. Suddenly what I had expected to fill these lines with had floated away–my mind instead consumed with Magic Quadrant.

A quick consult with Alexa tells me that this is a series of market research reports published by IT consulting firm Gartner that involve some sort of data analysis regarding marketing… this point in her delivery of the information I requested is when my eyes glazed over and my ears filled with music similar to that of the Academy Awards when they are rudely trying to get winners to stop talking. It seems as though a group of people pulling together reports on data of any sort would come up with a better name than Magic Quadrant.

Magic Quadrant sounds to me like a sweet spot. And maybe, in laymen’s terms, that’s what we’re talking about here.

I get certain aspects of marketing. I understand, with someone who has something to sell, I need to identify my ideal customer and decipher what the need they have is, so I can meet it. I get all of that… But then, other people just like me are talking about SEO words and I’ll be honest: Cue glazed eyes and Oscar orchestra because I’m done.

I want to be the author who tells the truth about life–my life, and life happening all around me. I want to share not the dry data of events, but how they feel and why they matter. I want to focus on the power of story, the power of healing, the power of empathy, rest, genuine self-care, and acting love. I don’t want to craft posts around trending words that bring people to this space. I don’t want to conform my writing to what is attracting the most buzz. I want this space to be a quiet, restful space where those who come here know they will be safe to read, process, and might just leave with something that balms something in them which burned a little before they got here.

The true Magic Quadrant.

My way feels a little less dirty, although the other way isn’t at all dirty either, it just doesn’t feel like me.

This may be why I’ll probably never be a best-seller or make it onto many book lists. I think I’ve had to grow to the point where I’m ok with that. Early on writers are taught to want one of the big publishing houses to buy their book, and to dream of the NYT bestseller list… For a long, long time those were the things I believed I wanted too, because these were the things I was taught to chase if I wanted to be a writer.

I no longer want those things.

Whether it is five or five-hundred thousand people who read my blog, listen to my show, or buy my book, I want it to matter. I want it to feel like a genuine moment of intimacy followed by a good friend wrapping a blanket around their shoulder and reassuring them–There there… You’re ok, and even when it doesn’t feel like it you’re not alone. This space is safe and warm, real and connected…

It turns out my magical space is far more fairy-twinkle lights, steaming mugs of tea, and cozy blankets than the data would allow, and I this feels right for me.