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We Are Ordinary People

Hi. My name is Rachel, and I live an extraordinary life with ordinary moments.

My six-year-old wakes me up with a, “Good morning, Mommy. How did you sleep?” He says my cooking tastes really good, and thinks the dresses I wear are pretty. He laughs when I lose to him in every game we play. Ever. He always double checks the photos I take of him. Yup, that’s my son, for sure.

Ordinary mom things.

I never dread coming into work. I don’t even dread paying my bills. I like my co-workers, and like my paychecks. I plan events for “work” and I plan parties on the side, which is not even really “on the side.” I haven’t looked back since I left it, and that feels really, really gratifying.

Ordinary job things. Ordinary dream things.

The 4,476 messages back and forth through the day bridge the 3,000 mile gap between us. The photos, the plans, the inside jokes. The accumulation of airlines miles is a nice perk too. Us.

Ordinary love things.

We watch Sunday Football in our pajamas. She cooks for me, while she lays down on the couch – still drunk from the night before. I text with my best friend incessantly, plan happy hours, dinners, and nights out. Cry, vent, and have the best conversations about absolutely nothing.

Ordinary friend things.

One ordinary moment after the other, strung together in an extraordinary way. My life, although far from perfect, is perfectly beautiful. Hello, 2014.

Can I Live?

I feel like Im constantly navigating different worlds. That soccer mom-make-his-favorite-thing-for-dinner-drop-him-off-at-school-read-to-him-at-night world. That I-already-have-10-friends-and-only-have-room-for-another-half-friendship-in-my-life-and-then-you-showed-up-all-cool-and-shit world. That 2.5-years-later-I-still-stay-up-all-night-to-talk-to-him- world. That I-am-the-best-event-planner-ever world. That I-work-for-a-dope-start-up-in-SF-with-crazy-hours-and-crazy-perks-and-crazy-bosses-world.

There’s a whole lot of other worlds i don’t fuck with because i’ve only got so much time and so many heartbeats. Can I live? Actually, can I live with an assistant?

This is my life.

There aren’t enough things that get my full attention in the day, as I’m trying to do it all at once. Multi-tasking is ruining my life, or saving it. I can’t tell. When I do get the few and far between moments that require me to do absolutely NOTHING, I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel as awkward as my best friend in a room full of hot guys. (If you know her, you know the pain of witnessing that).

Sometimes my single, childless, void-of-responsbility friends want to have intelligent conversations about politics, and music, and you know, important shit that happens in the world. Most of the time I’m up for it, but SOMETIMES i’m in the middle of signing report cards, writing checks for martial arts, editing marketing copy, having a heart to heart over g-chat and booking my next flight that I’m living in my own world totally checked out to things that aren’t my life.

So I’m sorry I can’t be a person right now. Actually, fuck it, I’m not all that sorry because instead of being a person, I’m being a mother, a friend, a lover, and the best godamn social media marketer you’ve come across today. This isn’t a bitch face, I just call it my face

I am never not working in one of my worlds, and that’s ok with me. My brain is always on, and there are mountains growing in my shoulders and in the worlds in front of me. But I’m moving them. Please believe.

And as my brain tries to wrap itself around the fact that I’m going to be in a 32-degree city with the man who holds my heart for my birthday, but making sure to be back in time for Christmas Gift Exchange with my girls — my cell phone makes a sound I recognize as an emergency at work. I turn that fucker on silent, and I remind myself to send out invitations for my son’s 6th birthday (holy shit, he’s getting old) I try on a dress I just got in the mail, because ain’t NOBODY got time to shop offline, and that same almost-6-year-old walks in and says,“Mommy, I like your dress. You look beautiful.”

All that shit goes quiet in my head. And here I am. This is my life.

I love it all. Especially that last part.

Lost and Found

Sometimes I feel as if I'm losing my mind. Some days, I just have a day and get lost in my head about all the things that went wrong.

And then I find inspiration in our conversations, and all is right within me. I love our talks.

I found Gail in my dreams the other night, although I still feel lost when I think about her. I can't believe that life without her is real.

I get lost in the sounds of new music, of old favorites. Sometimes the words sit on the wavelength my heart is on and just.. beats.

Sometimes, when you talk, I find myself losing the words and getting lost in your face. Your animated hand gestures when you get excited, your nervous ticks and old habits. Your words don't find themselves to my ears, but you've got my full attention. I promise.

I found the ultimate happiness at Disneyland with my miracle baby and almost lost it when he jumped up and down at the happiest place on earth. I finally get why they call it that. I find that he makes everything exponentially better by not doing anything at all other than be himself. I get lost in the ocean of love I feel for this little boy.

I find myself reliving memories a lot. That's why I keep so many photos on my phone. I look at a moment, and find myself back there, back in that feeling, back in that space.

Last night, I watched a movie that had me in tears. Lost it all over my pillows, empathizing with a woman who lost a baby. That memory never leaves me, on any day.

Have you ever seen me eat? The look of pure joy that washes over my face, losing the rest of my senses and relishing in every texture, taste, and smell. God, I love food.

My heart is so full of love, for so many people. For so many things.

We lose ourselves in the things we love. We find ourselves too.

OOTD

I’m wearing the watch Jason gave me. It’s Gail’s and it fits perfectly. I remember the day she got it, we all oogled at our rose gold accessories. I miss her.

I’m wearing the hair Charrie gave me. It’s big and curly, just how I like it. I’ve worn it this way for almost 5 years and if my hair could talk….. Ohwee. “That’s why her hair’s so big. It’s full of secrets.”

I’m wearing the ring Abi gave me. It’s the right half of a broken heart. Story of our lives. Together, they read “Best Freakin Friends”. Except, I don’t know how we are still friends. Tiiiiiiiired of her.

Next to that, I’m wearing the ring Aaron gave me. It’s a compass, because I always get lost. It’s broken, but I still wear it. Maybe that’s why I still can’t find my way.

I’m holding the clutch Ren let me borrow. She bought it in Italy… Oh the memories we made in Florence! So much was happening. So much change. So much discovery.

I’m wearing the scarf Cat gave me. Well, we do this thing called BFL – Borrow For Life. Same thing, right? It’s a cheetah print infinity scarf. I wrap it around my neck and for a split second, can’t breathe.

I’m wearing the scar Adonis gave me. A reminder of the miracle that was his birth, and the pain that was his brother. It tingles today. It does that sometimes.

I’m wearing the shirt Queenie gave me. San Francisco — the place she moved to, the place I never left. The city that is so big, and too small. Full of nothing and everything, and always something for me.

I’m wearing the necklace I gave myself. ”Big butt and a smile,” it says on the heart-shaped pendant. Just one in a collection of 10 that I gave as Christmas gifts to my best friends. All for one – One for all.

I’m wearing the smile my Mom gave me. High cheek dimples, and all. She says it’s my best feature. I say it’s my best mask.

I’m wearing the heart my Dad gave me. On my sleeve, for all to see. I don’t know how to love any other way, and I won’t want to ever love any less. He says it’s my best feature. I agree.

It’s all mine, and it’s everybody else’s at the same time. And although it’s not anymore than what I usually wear, today, it just feels too heavy.

You Should Be Here

I think it was the day after you left, I looked through old photos, all the way back to the first day we met. It was in Las Vegas 2007, and I turned to Baning and said, "She's really nice. Like REALLY nice. I can't not like her." And you know me, I don't like anybody. But I liked you, and we became fast friends. You loved music, and food, and your friends, and LIFE.

The next 5 years were a blur of what twenty-somethings do. Drunken nights, inappropriate laughs and aim conversations, crying over long distance relationships, heartaches and breakthroughs. The pains of looking for new jobs, quitting bad ones, leaving bad relationships, keeping good ones, moving, and turning 30. We were there for it all.

I remember the day you told us the news. I understood because I had told you the same not too long before, and you were there for me. I swallowed my tears through a three-way hand hold. It would all be alright. I would be there for you, too.

I came to visit and spend time when I could. The visits became more frequent when we knew time was running out. I wrote you, a week before you were gone. I sat in my room and wrote you things I couldn't bear to say out loud, like, how life isn't fair, and how angry I am. How you deserve so much more than anyone I know, and how much I love you. I told you I would trade a year of my life, so you could have another and I cried like a child, knowing I couldn't do anything else but watch you go.

I held your hand each time I came over. We sat next to each other and listened to her sing, or watched TV, and talked shit. When you finally left, I held your hand then too. It was on a night we were all together, and I thank God and especially you, that we all had each other. You've never had to make us go through anything alone.

I've struggled with your reality for a long time. I have been confused as to why our similar struggle turned out to be drastically different. I still can't make sense of it all.

You came to visit, through my cousin of all people. I feel slightly jealous, that she got to see you again - happy, smiling and vibrant. You held her hand and gave me a message. When she told me, I was in the kitchen cooking eggs for breakfast. I let them burn as the tears fell from my face, fast and hard.

Nailz Mare, I miss you.

As I prepare to celebrate your life with the people who love you, I remember you are happy. I hear you through my cousin's voice, telling me to not be sad or confused. "She's so happy," she said. "She loves you."

I love you too, Gail.

Trigger Happy

In my last post, I said there is no remedy for memory. For better or worse, they come when you least expect it. Triggers can be as small as a smell of laundry, a familiar face, or a catch phrase.

I hear Mayer Hawthorne and am immediately taken back to a foggy day in Golden Gate Park with my girls aka The Best Saturday, Ever. I see a peony and remember a friend. I hear Stevie Wonder and muscle memory takes over. These are the triggers I love. The excited, the ecstatic, the longing. The "Damn That Was Fun" to the "I almost forgot about that" to "Can we do that again?" triggers. The small things that recall the joy of that one moment, the ecstasy of the next. Y'all remember that shit?

There are other kinds.

I also see one friend and remember a stranger. I meet someone with the same first name as her and cringe inside. I step inside a home and cannot stand to be there. I hate these triggers. Things that trigger sad, mad, and confused. The small things that invoke the pain like a fresh cut and to your surprise, it still bleeds like that first day. Yeah. I remember that shit.

How do I get these same triggers - her voice, that name, your song - to trigger happy?

Because I want to walk down that street without anxiety. And I want to remember that day without getting angry. And I want to look at you and not get sad.

I can come up with a number of cliche phrases that will suffice here. "Time heals all" "Forgive and forget" Blah blah blah blah blah. Thing is, I have very little time, and a very long memory.

Perhaps its time for a little bit of change... A little bit of transference from one mindset to the next. Maybe to try and take those triggers and create new memories on that street, with that stranger, dancing to your song. I think I know what I have to do, I've just gotta pull the trigger.

Sounds About Write

As a person who expresses herself through words, there’s something to be said for any body of work that I put out. It’s never long enough, never eloquent enough, never edited enough. For this reason alone, I have formed a habit of publishing my posts immediately after writing them; before I can second guess myself, before I over-edit and lose the essence of my words, and before I chicken out.

Reading Zadie Smith’s 10 Rules of Writing, her last one stood out to me. “Resign yourself to the lifelong sadness that comes from never being satisfied.”

Because no post is ever perfect or ever enough. No body of words can ever convey how deeply I feel for you. Or how happy I am in this moment. Or how much it hurts to remember. The word “Hella” is just not colossal enough, the word “pain” doesn’t do my heart justice, and there is no word in the english language to describe how full my soul feels at any given moment.

What I’ve learned over years of writing down what comes, is that not only will I never be satisfied, but more importantly: There is no remedy for memory.

Only a verbal vomit that starts in your soul, passes through your stomach, and rips your heart out on its way up your throat… or through your fingers. Nothing can prepare you for the menagerie of emotions that floods you once you start writing about the things you know and feel.

Nothing.

So You're 30

So you’re 30.

Your friends call you to go out at 8pm and you say no because your bra is already off. Or maybe your friends call you to go out for coffee at 10am and you come back home fucking wasted at 10pm. You pay your bills, and then pay for a vacation in the same paycheck. Going to the club is no longer your speed, so you find yourself at lounges and street festivals and happy hours and yacht parties. (I’m on a boat, bitch.) Random, amazingness happens on any given day like, a bonus at work, or a new friend on the bus and you find yourself hashtagging #imold rather than #yolo. Some days your night starts at 11pm, and others you’re perfectly fine with going to bed at 9.

But your life is great, and your friends are finding themselves, finding husbands, and finding babies too. You’re collecting godkids faster than you are collecting passport stamps, but even that is filling up quite nicely. You can’t tell if you’re in a relationship or a situation-ship. But here you are in one moment, in the right situation with the wrong person, and before you know it, you’re in the wrong situation with the right person.

You wake up some days and absolutely love your life and the next you want to slit your wrists and don’t want to be around anyone who doesn’t hate everything about theirs. Your girlfriends are more and more the support you need, because Saturn’s return is completely kicking your ass. Obvi.

What the fuck, universe? l’m feeling bi-polar like a motherfucker.

If your 20s were for having fun and finding yourself, then your 30s are about having your kind of fun. Right? I was asked the other day if I miss my 20s. I wouldn’t say that I miss it. I just kind of feel like something is missing.

What is it and where do I find it? Who knows. I’m along for the ride though, and all it’s ups and downs. Let’s go.

ambrosial-eats-blog

huevos rancheros pizza

Intimacy is tough. It's fucking hard. Love is hard. With anyone: not just your man, not just your woman, but your mom, your dad, your siblings, your friends. Not because of the inevitable disagreements or any of that nonsense; while those might be annoying, they aren't the real reason intimacy is painful. Intimacy is painful because the closer you get to someone, the closer you are to the realization that no matter what you do, what you say, how perfect you are, how hard you love, you cannot stop time. Or differing realities. Or change. Or ultimately, loss. Death. Anger. Parting. Separation. So you might disconnect as a means of mitigating that pain but the reality is you only push it into another part of your life, or down the road, to some future unknown time when it's okay to feel pain (when is that??). It will come out. It always does. So go ahead and love. Love, because it reminds you you're alive.

Sex + Design

I've Got a Feeling

I know it’s been awhile.

And after hearing a thousand people tell me I need to write something again, I sat down determined to come up with something so profound I’d want to slap myself. And then, came nothing but words.

Single.

Staccato.

Words.

Things like… effort. happiness. understanding. us. Other phrases like.. Fuck you. fuck that. imperfect selves. perfect expectations. And even sentences like… I know it’s real. It’s worth it. I’m leaving. I’m always here. What am I doing? I know what I want.

I’ve always prided myself on being able to express how I’m feeling, sometimes even eloquently. I usually don’t even brainstorm like that. I just sit down and let my fingers type. Staring at this jumbled soup of words, I got stuck.

Because I can’t quiiiite put my finger on it. And I don’t actually know how this changes things. So I can’t reaallly speak on it. I don’t know the logic of it all. All I know, is that I feel it.

I woke up yesterday and for a split second, I was perfectly content. I wanted to stop time and live in that moment, revel in it, thrive in it. My heart was happy and I felt… connected to everything I want, my heart’s passion, my happiness. And then, in the blink of an eye and the kiss of the shoulder, it was gone.

I fear I now have become imprisoned by that same feeling, because although fleeting, I won’t rest until I get it back.

I had a feeling.

And frankly, it was just so nice to feel something again.

summerskkin

I want you to bite my lip until I can no longer speak And then suck my ex girlfriend’s name out of my mouth just to make sure she never comes up in our conversations.

I swear that when our lips touch I can taste the next sixty years of my life

raaachem-blog

iCant.

Starting Up.

For those of you who know me, know I work for a tech startup in San Francisco. The startup world has changed in this city, and companies like mine are quickly changing, free spirited, and fun. If you really know me, you know I am also heavily involved in my own project, a start-up on its own, if you will. In the infancy stage of having a huge idea, and a small team.

What I’ve learned, having spent a lot of time and energy in both companies, is that not a single thing is stagnant. That the smart, the rich, the funny, and the pretty don’t always get chosen. I’ve learned everyone is a jack of all trades, and I need to continue hoarding skills until I find a set that fits. I’ve learned to be flexible.

I came across a term called “Generation Flux”. Attributing the success of this generation to their ability to be flexible. In a world where last minute decisions are turn key, and nothing is set in stone, it reaffirmed that chaos is not necessarily a bad thing, and reignited my drive.

Our institutions are out of date; the long career is dead; any quest for solid rules is pointless, since we will be constantly rethinking them; you can’t rely on an established business model or a corporate ladder to point your way; silos between industries are breaking down; anything settled is vulnerable.

Put this way, the chaos ahead sounds pretty grim. But its corollary is profound: This is the moment for an explosion of opportunity, there for the taking by those prepared to embrace the change. We have been through a version of this before. At the turn of the 20th century, as cities grew to be the center of American culture, those accustomed to the agrarian clock of sunrise-sunset and the pace of the growing season were forced to learn the faster ways of the urban-manufacturing world. There was widespread uneasiness about the future, about what a job would be, about what a community would be. Fringe political groups and popular movements gave expression to that anxiety. Yet from those days of ambiguity emerged a century of tremendous progress.

Today we face a similar transition, this time born of technology and globalization–an unhinging of the expected, from employment to markets to corporate leadership. “There are all kinds of reasons to be afraid of this economy,” says Microsoft Research’s boyd. “Technology forces disruption, and not all of the change will be good. Optimists look to all the excitement. Pessimists look to all that gets lost. They’re both right. How you react depends on what you have to gain versus what you have to lose.”

Yet while pessimists may be emotionally calmed by their fretting, it will not aid them practically. The pragmatic course is not to hide from the change, but to approach it head-on. Thurston offers this vision: “Imagine a future where people are resistant to stasis, where they’re used to speed. A world that slows down if there are fewer options–that’s old thinking and frustrating. Stimulus becomes the new normal.”

To flourish requires a new kind of openness. More than 150 years ago, Charles Darwin foreshadowed this era in his description of natural selection: “It is not the strongest of the species that survives; nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is most adaptable to change.” As we traverse this treacherous, exciting bridge to tomorrow, there is no clearer message than that.

"It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing... It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments."

Destination: Cloud 9

Where do I even begin?

There isn't a day that passes that I have to remind myself to count my blessings. I am in a place in my life where, although my life situations may not be ideal, they are exponentially greater and more fulfilling than they were.

Not too long ago, I was in a shitty situation. I was in an un-happy relationship, worked at a job that I loathed, kept negative people in my life, but yet, I found happiness in the smallest of things. The laughter of my son, the vacation with my girlfriends, the song on the radio. Yoga and writing saved my life, I absolutely believe that with a fervent passion. They gave me the strength to change, the courage to believe it was going to be alright, and the blind determination to never look back. It gave me the mindset to pursue my happiness.

Well, happiness is relative. My journey here has been a turbulent one, not without bouts of complete bliss and rock bottom lows. I have since fallen in love again, involved myself with a venture I am passionate about, and work for a startup in SF that is probably the funnest office I've ever been in.

So why am I still not content?

At times I feel ungrateful, selfish, and a little shitty about the way I under-appreciate the clear blessings in my life. I have a beautiful, healthy baby boy who is frighteningly not a baby anymore. He is smart, has an outrageous personality, and doubles as spiderman at any given moment. I have amazing people. I mean, absolutely amazing. My friends, my family, my person all support me in ways I didn't even know I needed. I've learned a lot about being loved from them.

But something is missing.

There is something out there, something more, something different. I am unsure what it is, and cannot pinpoint any one definite thing, but I can finitely say this: I am still unfulfilled.

I never make the same mistake twice. I instead, make them a few times, because I am a stubborn asshole. I also have to re-learn the same lessons, in different situations. I am still learning that happiness, fleeting and futile as it may be, is not a destination but a state of mind.

I gave up a miserable life in the pursuit of happiness. I didn't realize I had also let down my ability to find the joy in all the things I already have. I can do both concurrently, and I will.

Yoga and writing saved my life once, and I am counting on them again now.

Raaachem.com. Hello again, old friend. Namaste.

Chomp

I drove through the Inner Richmond today and passed right by Chomp. The sight of the street sign caused a flood of memory as I remembered the last time I was there.

I was with my Ace, fresh off a stint in NYC. We were both “working from home” on our first day back at work and neither of us were actually working on our work computers. Pulled pork banh mis, and 2 hell or high watermelons littered the desk as we talked story about how we were feeling.

Confused. Inspired. Motivated. Bold. I had just told a someone special just how special he really was. She decided she needed to be…. Elsewhere. We both took chances that day.

Today? Those chances have taken us clear across the country, to hell and back, and have tested our faith and especially our sanity. Would we have done it differently? Fuck no.

Because even though shit ain’t ideal, we’re working to make it amazing. And of all the feelings we’ve had to endure, the one thing we haven’t had to ask ourselves is, “What if?”

That day seems like a lifetime ago. But that’s the day we decided to make the rest of our lives, the best of our lives.

HOT DAMN. i can't watch this shit with a straight face.

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