*A piece I wrote a while back, but didn't want to share publicly, but have still been itching to share! Thank you for giving me a safe space to do so :) As soon as I accept my aunt’s offer for seasonal work at their farm market,  I imagine us finally bonding, worrying  I’ll get too attached to move away that winter. Growing up within an hour,  I always thought my family was close—never missing  a chance to set the long table of mismatched chairs  at grandma’s: Christmas, Easter, each birthday, the 4th of July.  Ham, green beans, oyster filling, sweet potato casserole,  but no real interest in each other. Judgment thriving  in memory of stolen ideas, family fights, and the knowledge  of which son makes more money. In pursuit of genuine closeness, and a fall job with no interview, I make the hour-long drive  three days a week to teach field trip preschoolers about farm animals.  With no instruction, I wonder, Is their business dysfunctional,  or am I treated differently—a known member of the family  that doesn’t talk? In late October, field trips end. My job transitions  to the market bakery—I box meals, watching faces  and conversations change in an instant  depending on who walks through the door.  I ice pumpkin whoopie pies while my grandma turns away from me  to gossip, like she truly believes her back will muffle the poison she sends my aunt.  I mix muffins while my grandpa mocks an overweight stranger.  My grandparents finally hug me every time  they see me; proud of me for supporting the family business.  On my last day—the farm market staff Christmas party, I hear my aunt tell Mackenzie, You’re welcome at our house anytime!  My heart seals; tears jump from my eyes: Four months across the street, I waited for an invitation that never came. When family turns into business,  business turns into family —a co-worker replaces me as niece. When I move away  that February, I’m glad to go.

after Lyndsay Rush You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are smart. You are so capable. A part-time job counts as a job. Freelance work counts as a job. You are worthy. You’re worthy of relaxing even if you didn’t write a new cover letter today. Is it even going to help when you don’t want that newly listed job, and you’re too tired after lunch, so you end up half-assing it anyway? Full-time employment doesn’t equal worth. No one is judging you. No one is thinking how it’s been over six months; everyone has their own shit they’re worried about. Please continue to prioritize your core, deep wants over resume and cover letter rewriting and interview prep. You will get a new job. You will not get another life. Get outside more. Let the late October sun soak into your back after lunch while you walk to the creek to check on the ducks and assess how many leaves have fallen since yesterday, instead of checking your email and LinkedIn again to assess how many more jobs you didn’t get. Wake up early to walk the long way to the river. Let that walk be the only continuing education you ever need to be a more well-rounded person. Let the bald eagle that swoops past for your eyes only be a reminder of what you already know deep in your gut—everything is working out perfectly. Let this time be the freedom you always crave: take the month-long trip, plan for the next cross-country move, be humbled, but grow, too—let your community and your heart grow. While knowing the job that will hold you for the next chapter is right around the corner. When you’re ready for it. When you need it. When it’s right. No one is ashamed of you. No one is rushing you. Don’t shame or rush yourself. You are okay. You are right on time. Don’t let your fear yell over your knowing. Live. Let yourself live.

[I wrote this piece a couple classes ago, and I really like it. It felt like it was one that poured right out of my gut, and even when I re-read it, it really hits me, because it describes a feeling that feels so true and heartbreaking for me.] I’m not sure why I keep seeing herons this summer,  But I do know they feel important, like stars in the dark of my unknown direction right now, telling me I’m at the right place.  I’m not sure why I chose the cottonwood tree to the left of our stairs to be the spot that holds my grandfather’s spirit for me,  But I do know I love having him with me, and I know I see his booming laugh and smile each time I look at it.  And I’m not sure what it means that he died on his birthday—a perfect circle—birth day to death day, 90 years later,  But I do know I have his discipline and want to finish every challenge I start, and I’m beginning to open my heart like him, too.  I’m not sure why it’s so hard for me to get up from every place I am,  But I do know that each time I sit down along the creek or the river, I never feel ready to get up again; I have to tear myself away every time.  And at the end of every season, I’m heartbroken, not ready for it to end—even though in the previous season, I didn’t want this one to start.  And I’m not sure if that’s because each leaving is a type of death, and a deep part of me loves this existence so much that with each leaving, it cries.  But I do know that this morning, when I didn’t want to get out of bed, I let myself linger a couple minutes longer: Letting the greens of the grass and the spruces outside our eastern window seep a bit more into my eyes,  Letting the blue of the sky wake me, Letting the robins’ calling ring extra long in my ears, Letting the weight of the duvet sink into me, Letting Pepper’s fur soften against my fingers,  Letting it all last a little bit longer, as I shut my eyes again and whispered, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

My first published poem! It's about the day I found out I was getting laid off from Pluralsight. It got published in Anodyne magazine, which is a Berlin-based lit mag focused on health and FLINTA* (the German equivalent of LGBTQ+) experiences. https://anodynemag.com/vol3/