I was 17, my hands dug deep into the pockets of my grey peacoat, as I walked out of the International Center of Photography onto the corner of Sixth Ave at 43rd Street, having just visited the "Annie Leibovitz: Women" exhibit with my family. It was early December, for a moment I was lost in the vibrations of motion and color as throngs of bundled sightseers maneuvered the packed sidewalks. Suddenly, a young blond in her early twenties breezed past in an emerald knee-length wool coat which screamed high fashion or a truly amazing vintage find. As a kid growing up in the sleepy South Jersey beach town, I often fantasized over who I'd become as an adult, and this young woman embodied it all - easy elegance, class, poise. I pictured her perfect little life - some sort of flashy job, a handsome Disney prince boyfriend, a tiny, cool apartment downtown. She was kind and beautiful and thoughtful, and generous. At least I imagined her to be. A woman of substance. A woman of worth. I pictured it all.
I had no idea how to get there.
I tried so many different ways. I fumbled over and over again, thinking that things would fall into place if I just changed locations, brands of jeans, friend groups, boyfriends.
But as Confucius said, "No matter where you go - there you are."
And it's only recently that I've come to understand that there is no official threshold to cross in order to self-acceptance.
I've marinated on many - If I just finish my book, sell my book. If I get a dog, or a new job. If I can live alone, have a boyfriend. If I am financially independent, purchase new clothing, shoes, or a handbag. If I lose 5 pounds, move to New York City.
Some of these items has come to fruition, have come to be truer than I could have imagined. Some have lingered, others cycled through quickly or morphed as I've continued to grow and change. Some have not happened and really there is no way to assure that they will other than to put forth my best effort.
If it’s meant for me, it won’t pass me by.
I've taken a long, and winding road to adulthood. But actually, really, that is okay.
I've taken a long and winding road to putting truth out there and allowing myself to be exactly who I am in this moment - single, with an amazing job, working on the book that was sparked in my mind four leap years ago as I sat poised on the edge of my bed in my single dorm room in Australia and heard my mind tell my heart, (or was it the other way around) that if I survive this, I will write about it.
I will write about it so that someone else who is experiencing similar feelings and emotions might read it and feel less alone - the most beautiful and sacred gift resulting from the written word.
I've chosen the name Blonde and Blue for this site for several reasons, the first being that the sound of the words brushing together reminds me of "Tangled Up in Blue", one of my favorite songs by Bob Dylan, who I greatly admire for his storytelling. Blonde and Blue also happens to be the name I used as my handle during my brief stint on a handful of mobile dating apps since I've lived in the New York Metro area. But the most concrete reason I have been continually drawn to that combination of words is the simple truth that when I was born three weeks late in the heart of the Summer of '83 to a couple of surfers who loved dogs and music and the ocean, I arrived with white blonde hair and bright blue eyes and for better or worse, that simple description identity has stayed with me throughout my life.
Today my hair is certainly not as blonde, but my eyes are still that pretty blue that reminds me of both my grandmothers, one I know so well, the other barely at all and now passed on. They are both part of me. I am part of them. I find comfort in reminding myself that no one is perfect. We are all human. I have made mistakes. We have all made mistakes, and it really is okay.
I am enough. You are enough.
We are all enough.
Just as we are today.
xo, Meg
I had no idea how to get there.
I tried so many different ways. I fumbled over and over again, thinking that things would fall into place if I just changed locations, brands of jeans, friend groups, boyfriends.
But as Confucius said, "No matter where you go - there you are."
And it's only recently that I've come to understand that there is no official threshold to cross in order to self-acceptance.
I've marinated on many - If I just finish my book, sell my book. If I get a dog, or a new job. If I can live alone, have a boyfriend. If I am financially independent, purchase new clothing, shoes, or a handbag. If I lose 5 pounds, move to New York City.
Some of these items has come to fruition, have come to be truer than I could have imagined. Some have lingered, others cycled through quickly or morphed as I've continued to grow and change. Some have not happened and really there is no way to assure that they will other than to put forth my best effort.
If it’s meant for me, it won’t pass me by.
I've taken a long, and winding road to adulthood. But actually, really, that is okay.
I've taken a long and winding road to putting truth out there and allowing myself to be exactly who I am in this moment - single, with an amazing job, working on the book that was sparked in my mind four leap years ago as I sat poised on the edge of my bed in my single dorm room in Australia and heard my mind tell my heart, (or was it the other way around) that if I survive this, I will write about it.
I will write about it so that someone else who is experiencing similar feelings and emotions might read it and feel less alone - the most beautiful and sacred gift resulting from the written word.
I've chosen the name Blonde and Blue for this site for several reasons, the first being that the sound of the words brushing together reminds me of "Tangled Up in Blue", one of my favorite songs by Bob Dylan, who I greatly admire for his storytelling. Blonde and Blue also happens to be the name I used as my handle during my brief stint on a handful of mobile dating apps since I've lived in the New York Metro area. But the most concrete reason I have been continually drawn to that combination of words is the simple truth that when I was born three weeks late in the heart of the Summer of '83 to a couple of surfers who loved dogs and music and the ocean, I arrived with white blonde hair and bright blue eyes and for better or worse, that simple description identity has stayed with me throughout my life.
Today my hair is certainly not as blonde, but my eyes are still that pretty blue that reminds me of both my grandmothers, one I know so well, the other barely at all and now passed on. They are both part of me. I am part of them. I find comfort in reminding myself that no one is perfect. We are all human. I have made mistakes. We have all made mistakes, and it really is okay.
I am enough. You are enough.
We are all enough.
Just as we are today.
xo, Meg