well...actually's first solar return
a celebration of one year, and an embrace of the perpetual draft form
Today we’re celebrating something grand: Well…Actually turns one today!
Cue the streamers! Light the fireworks! Blow out the candles! SMASH THE CAKE WITH OUR BARE HANDS AND MOUTHY MOUTHS!
Today is not only a celebration of this Well…Actually milestone, though one year of hitting “publish” weekly is certainly something to celebrate. I’m also taking a moment to count the fruits of my courage, to marvel at how baby steps can quickly add up when walking toward a dream, and to smile for honoring the voices inside my head urging me to WRITE WRITE WRITE. And, of course, because I can’t help myself, I’m laughing as I realize that I birthed this blog baby in peak Aries season. Light me up, fire-breathing b*tches.
In my very first post on April 16, 2024, I wrote a mission statement for myself and this space—ultimately an ode to “the know-it-all-kid-turned-opinionated-woman, rich in emotions and interests, who’s still asking the questions and fueled with the same insatiable curiosity.”
A year later, this generally holds true, though, I acknowledge that perhaps the know-it-all kid still takes the reins at times—she’s pretty fun and feisty, as it turns out, and an opinionated woman needs to work with her inner child, even if she is a know-it-all, or so I’ve learned in therapy...
The road I’ve taken in the past 52 weeks has been full of that childlike curiosity. I’ve stumbled down rabbit holes and hit a few dead ends, fretting, musing, and exploring in surprising, but not wholly unexpected ways. But, the road keeps taking me home to a girl’s girl’s cul-de-sac1—a space where I wonder about female friendships, millennial cringe, personal style, good literature, pop culture, and the interconnectedness of it all.
I have a hunch that the girl’s girl cul-de-sac will continue to be home-base for the future of Well…Actually. And, we hold these truths to be self-evident: to be a girl’s girl is layered, beautiful, raw, challenging, honorable, and f*cking cool. But, the nuances of these truths? They demand full honesty, care, and fairness. This means a confrontation of myself every time I sit down to write for you.
This means a reckoning of what I know to be true, what I observe in this world, and how to navigate the feelings of it all. It’s manifested in a lot of ways…
shedding the skin of my former people pleasing self, one scale at a time
rejecting societal expectations of the eldest daughter trope
embracing the discomfort of anger and then deploying that anger in an authentic way.
knowing the importance of a council of trusted girlfriends
giving space for my deep adoration and deeply entrenched platonic love for those friends
showing up for that community, and even more crucially, showing up for myself (even with some dignified impertinence) so that I can show up for them
Maybe I should have known that writing on these truths would require this level of emotional scuba diving. Maybe. But, what would be the fun in that? The pursuit of that discovery is the fun. Sentence by sentence I find myself delighted and thrilled to bring to life my values and opinions—sometimes reaching epiphanies, other times still questioning after I hit “publish.”
In February and March of this year, I skipped a few Fridays and didn’t publish anything. I was still writing, and digging, and asking questions, but I needed to do some of that in private. I needed to give myself permission to take space. To dig at the heart of the thing—what ever the “thing” is. Letting the not-quite-fully-formed ideas, journal entries, stories, and dreams sit in half-baked, draft form is yet another lesson learned from this Well…Actually endeavor.
Draft form. Yikes, right? It’s a form I used to be scared of. I still experience mild discomfort when I have salient thoughts sitting in a draft. The perfectionist in me hates the unpolished nature of ‘draft form,’ but I’m learning to live in it and ultimately embrace it. Looking back on this year, that’s what sticks out for me—the embrace of the imperfect. I’ve caught typos, wondered aloud, asked silly questions. I’ve admitted my own struggle with perfectionism. I’ve been vulnerable and honest in this space. We’re all in draft form, after all. We are all in process.
You are something else that sticks out for me this year. Friends and strangers reading my writing—what a dream. Friends embracing my imperfect writing—even dreamier! Just by being here, you’ve acknowledged that this is me trying. You’ve engaged in the discourse. You’ve held space. Thank you.
My own creative process is slowly being revealed to me. Before starting Well…Actually, I thought that I could build my own creative process simply by choosing this or that from the buffet of experts. I’ll start with a bowl full of Joan Didion’s prolific documentation. Add a dollop of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic. Sprinkle in a few of Anne Lamott’s birdies. Et voila! There is my perfectly tailored creative process.
In reality, my process is—you guessed it!—wildly imperfect and inconsistent. But, this humbling realization doesn’t lessen the magic or prolific nature of my process, either. It’s a simultaneous scuba dive into the murky deep waters of emotional memory, and a flitting from subject to subject on the surface. When I get it so sooo wrong, I find myself bemused at my own delusional expectations.
Like that one time (last month) I took myself on a solo writing retreat—two nights in Orcas Island with my geriatric pup and a cooler full of snacks in tow. My wildly ambitious goal for the retreat was to start and finish a fully fleshed-out outline for a novel. [Pause here for a collective belly laugh at this particular delusional expectation.] Did I meet the goal? Hell no. Did I get close to meeting the goal? Also no. Did I watch the 2005 classic adaptation of Pride & Prejudice TWICE that weekend instead? YES. And also, L O L.2
Look at me learning to embrace the imperfect. Because it’s fun. Because it’s more interesting. Because from that double feature of P&P I was inspired to write an outline of a dinner party scene. And I did! Just one scene, but it’s something.
I don’t know where Well…Actually will be when we are celebrating the second or third anniversary of this space. Maybe I’ll have moved on to something else. Maybe I’ll have finished that outline, or hell, even the book itself. Maybe I’ll still be writing unhinged missives about snakes or red lipstick.
It may be trite, but I don’t really care where I end up. I care about the drafting process. I care about the grit of an idea. I care about my careful love of each word, phrase, and sentence that builds that idea. I care about you. I care about the community, no matter how big or small.
I care about counting courageous fruits. I care about marveling at dream-filled baby steps. I care about smiling profusely because I’ve been writing writing writing.
And, I will keep caring enough to write write write.
Thank you for coming along.
It’s not the first time I’ve been inspired by Jane Austen, and it certainly won’t be the last.
i have the coolest big sister in the world ❤️ i’m so proud of you and so inspired by you!!!
“girl’s girl cul-de-sac”—LOVE. happy one year, my friend!! I’m happy every time you press publish :)