This week I did something I've considered doing for many years. Something about which I've considered and wondered and imagined about since as far as back as 17, when more days than not, if you asked, I would have told you I already knew who I wanted to marry.

The answer I would have provided you back then is so very different from what I would tell you today.

Today I am so very single, more than I have ever been.
And so very grateful for it.

And so this week I stomped on the little voice inside of me that has long said: That thing, you keep thinking about is stupid. That thing is silly. and anyway, What will people think?

I stomped harder on the voice that said: You have no business being there.

No business being here.

It was a practice in patience - waiting for almost two hours on line on a warm June evening with hundreds of beautiful single women. It was a practice in just adding lip gloss and trusting that my 7am makeup application from that morning was enough as I waited on line for several hours outside of an iconic network television studio. I filled out a form and left answers blank I didn't feel comfortable answering. I told a version of my truth to the warm female producer who asked me a series of questions about myself. I let the answers come out as they may, those that lit me up inside.

With a background in reality television, I am well-aware of what is contrived in unscripted productions.

"Have you watched UnREAL?" a friend asked me.

Yes. I've watched it, and I've lived it.

I've worked on shoots and been in meetings and seen firsthand what's real in reality tv and what's contrived.

Still I went. I went, because deep within me, I knew it had nothing to do with actually wanting to be on this particular show and everything to do with being seen.

Not by any of the producers.

But by myself.

As a worthy contestant.

I didn't recognize what had drawn me to action until I was standing on a line with an application in hand, posing for a photo with my name and phone number on a whiteboard, then again with my hands on hips per instruction, flashing my best smile. I sat across from my companion, giggling as we filled out the six page applications, and giggling more as we waited some more before being mic'd up and instructed to sit flat-backed against the booth seating in the network cafeteria and answering a series of questions for three to five minutes on camera.

It had everything to do with allowing myself to not take myself so damn seriously. To show up and take a fun risk-free adventure (because really, what did we have to lose?) with another sweet, curious single woman as my wing-woman.

What type of person willingly submits themselves to this?
How desperate they must be.
If anyone finds out...
Who will want to love someone who submits themselves to this type of thing?
These are the thoughts that brushed through my mind throughout the evening.

Please don't tell anyone, I said to my friend after confiding in her that I attended this audition.

This photo has been inside my phone for many months now - a screenshot of a Instagram filter selection for a photo I never posted. I remember pausing and taking the screenshot, struck by the subtle differences in the lip color, gradients of black and white, before ultimately opting not to even post the photo. How carefully we select what we share with the world. How carefully we curate our lives.

I want to be honest.

That's what I want to be.

Honesty is - I've always secretly wondered what it would be like to audition for The Bachelor. Honestly is - I've always sort of wondered if I was pretty enough, interesting enough, worthy enough.

This week, I squashed those questions by answering them for myself - just by showing up.

Believing in ourselves, being honest, and showing up is all we can do.

Thank goodness for that.

XO,
Meg

We don't belong to no one
That's a shame
- from "Name", by the Goo Goo Dolls

It's a line in a song, I've heard a thousand times since it first came on the radio in 1995. I didn't want to believe it then and I don't want to believe it now. I wanted to prove it wrong.

I wanted to believe that a soul-mate filled you with what's been missing. I wanted to believe for so long that another person would make me feel complete.

Recently I was reminded that soulmates are meant to compliment, not complete us.

The word "alone" has long held such a fearful connotation for me. Just the verbalization of it ringing in my ear, lingering like a church bell.

Only recently have I begun to understand that I am actually not alone.

That I am single, but I am far from alone. That I live and work in a metropolitan area many people refer to as cold and lonely, but I am not alone. That even though my passion lies in the solitary act of writing, something that for the most part, no one can do with me or for me, even there, where for so long I thought I just needed to be alone to get things done, I've found that the reverse is also true.

Community is so important. Speaking the truth is so important. Looking reality in the eye and saying - I see what's happening and I'm willing to acknowledge it.

Not only that, but if I don't like what it's creating, I'm willing to do what needs to be done in order to create a more pleasant alternative.

We are never really stuck.

I've felt that way so many times.

I've sat frozen in fear on my parents couch, replaying a mix tape of self doubt, tracks of every potential negative outcome I could dream up. 

One Sunday afternoon in particular I sat on that couch in my parents' living room with tears streaming down my cheeks. I was 24 or 25 - these years are starting to blur together now. But I do remember clearly my dad sitting next to me on the couch, putting his arm around me, and reminding me, We all make mistakes, Meg.

He's made mistakes.
I've made mistakes.
We all make mistakes.

I sat sobbing into my dad's shoulder that afternoon wondering aloud how to move forward. My dad and I didn't always have these type of conversations. At 15, I'm not sure I could have ever imagined that I'd be sharing a moment like that with my father. But this is what conversation does. This is what vulnerability and honesty offers.

I'd never felt less alone than that moment with my dad.

My dad couldn't promise me anything

No one can promise me anything. A positive outcome cannot be guaranteed in any event - in any decision. But when I am wholly honest with myself about my intentions, and about my desires and my motives - when I share that selflessly with another - my world expands.

I may not belong to anyone. No one belongs to me - but today I can love everyone. I can love with abandon and believe that I am loved deeply by so many people.

I can believe that I am a truly fortunate heart. That truly, it's never too late. And actually, this we don't belong to no one thing, is quite a liberating consideration.

One not to fear, but rather to embrace.

I spent my early teens, high school years, college days, and early twenties even daydreaming that the perfect love would set me right. Too many Disney movies, 90's high school rom-com's, Cosmo mag pictorials of beautiful sexy twenty somethings embracing, seeming blissful in their togetherness.

There are moments of bliss like that with another.

There are moments of bliss with family, with girlfriends, with the men I've dated. But All of it is an extension of the truth that we do not belong to one person, but we belong to all. I belong and identify with each human being.

I am never alone in fact. And in this partnership with humanity, as I bear witness to it, I continue to move toward becoming the best version of myself. To welcome love and friendship and partnerships that will continue to expand my connections.

I never have to be alone.

Neither do you.
You are not alone.
Never forget, you are not alone in your pain, your sadness, your insecurity.

We are all in it together.

Remember to love.
It will come right back to you.
Believe it. It is the truth.

Love.

Xo,
Meg

I want to tell you I didn't know this all along. Didn't know that my heart was   unraveling, and that some day, one day, I'd begin to understand what it all meant. I want to say that I didn't know that I have always been a curious, brave woman underneath all the niceties. That I have always had big dreams and believed fully in the possibility to achieve them. I never stopped believing - I just got scared.

What would this all look like - what would it mean to really just go for it?

I've had to clear away so many of my old beliefs that I've allowed to take the lead in my outward life. One in particular was that I could keep everything the way I wanted it and my deepest desires would still come to be.

I had to walk away from things that once served to carry me through. I had to walk, sometimes, with my hands covering my eyes, my gut turning, and tears streaming down my cheeks into my deepest fears.

I've needed to surrender to the fact that the life I lived moving forward might look nothing like what I wanted it to. I had to surrender to trust that truly, things would be okay, even though no one could offer me a sure thing.

My life is so very far from perfect. It's so very far from the tidy life I dreamt of since I was little girl where everything had a place and there was repetition, and order, that everyone would like me and that I would never offended anyone. It's impossible and exhausting to even try. Believe me - save yourself the effort. I've done the legwork!

I wish I could have fast-forwarded this entire process ten years, to save myself and those I love the most all of the trouble, but I am not in the business of outcomes. I cannot control the course of my life, but I can be wholly honest with myself, or at least be willing to try my very best.

I am grateful that today I am flexible. I am grateful to be, more often than not, a kind person. I am grateful that I can place myself in the shoes of another, to imagine what he/she is going through. I do it often in fact. If you know me, no matter how little or well, I've likely considered your story. I've had compassion for you. We are all fighting a great battle after all.

I spent the last several days in Southern California, my alpha waves flowing, as my dad told me happens when you are at peace. I spent those days at a writing retreat in Ojai called Story & Soul, led by three female memoirists who I greatly admired from afar, Claire Bidwell Smith, Jenny Feldon, and Jillian Lauren. You should all read ALL of their books because they are each beautiful, gifted writers, but what I also want to share about these lovely women is what they had to say about the writing life and life in general - it is hard - we have little control over outcomes - it can be lonely and tough - but it is damn worth it.

On the first night of the retreat Claire set the tone by explaining that the ladies dreamt up this retreat because they all believe there is truly room on the shelves for each person's story, that community is important to them and they want to foster that in other women, and in particular other female writers.

The mantra I am here, I am a writer, I believe was printed in calligraphy on a beautiful piece of card stock, wrapped in a set of mala beads inside the welcome bags on our beds. By the end of day 1, all of the ladies are wearing the beads, as necklaces, and bracelets, keeping them close as they uncovered their stories from their lives in Florida, Texas, Utah, NoCal, SoCal, and across town in Ojai - sharing in a willingness to go to the darkest, most frightening places, and when we couldn't quite identify it, huddling around each other in a gentle circle of encouragement until we did. Some were quick divers, eager to take the first leap, others it took prodding and encouragement until the last night. But everyone dove.

Each and every one of us.

Sometimes I wonder where this person came from, but then I reminded, it's who I've been all along. My own unique person, a little bit of this and a little of that. My own sort of okay. A person, I've had to come around to accept. And still a work in progress.

I am grateful that today I feel when I open my heart and allow it to rise into my own truth, I hear and see and feel what is truly happening. I am not afraid of it. I feel taken care of and loved. It is a little whisper -There is no need to go backward. You are safe, and loved so deeply.

Really, sweet girl, you are enough.

I am here.
I am a writer
I believe.

xo,
Meg