Good Morning from Times Square

Good morning readers!

This time I'm switching things up a bit. I usually send these things out well after 12 PM and usually from a location somewhere in Virginia. This morning, I'm writing from the Gallivant at Times Square!

I've always wanted to make it to the Big Apple, and this trip has been amazing. I've been working since I got into the City yesterday afternoon until 8 last night at the New York AREA Member Reception, which was a fantastic moment to meet many of our board members, a few of whom I've written for. And after getting back to the Gallivant, I met up for drinks and dinner at the Bea with my darling friend Kaitlynn (who's lived here for five years and still agreed to take selfies with me at Times Square).

I always anticipated that New York would be overwhelming for a girl who grew up in Staunton, but there's something almost familiar about it. The energy and the "sea of humanity" (that's lodged in my brain after watching The Great Gatsby on Sunday) is something you adapt to very quickly. Keep moving, don't make eye contact, act like you know where you're going and people don't bother you. It's really no different than DC, except higher buildings and more lights.

I wish I could stay longer and explore more, but I have more work at the office and will be leaving early afternoon. But hopefully it won't be long till I'm back in the City!

Cheers,
Victoria

P.S. Shoutout to my wonderful boyfriend on his 21st birthday! Despite these crazy 36 hours, I can't wait to celebrate with him this weekend - watch my Instagram for pictures!

The blog I didn't want to write

I'm a failure.

I've thought this so many times in my life, in this year, in this month that it's not even a joke. Lost friends, missed job opportunities, failed dreams. 

The first time it happens, you kind of laugh it off and think "hey, you can't win them all." Second, third, fourth times it starts to rough you up, which is a good thing. But then that one failure hits you, the one that finally breaks you and leaves you crying in the dark.

What's even worse than the failure itself is that feeling of being so stupid to think that you could conquer this dream in the first place. Why would you even try if it was going to leave you looking like a fool who couldn't live up to her dreams?

I'm a failure. 

I never made it into the grad program I wanted. I didn't get to fulfill my dream of traveling and studying overseas. I spent a year after graduating with a lack of direction in my life. I applied to hundreds of jobs, and heard back from maybe 12.

I lost friendships I swore would be forever. I hated my body so much that I hit borderline anorexia. I spent three years trying to impress a guy who would never love me the way I hoped. I cut, abused my body, allowed people to walk all over me. I lost some of the most important role models, either physically or emotionally.

I fell, hit rock bottom more times than I can count. But why do we fall?

To pick ourselves back up. 

(Okay, that's Batman. But it's true.)

My life wouldn't be the same if I hadn't failed over and over. I wouldn't have achieved the goals I wanted through the grad program I set my heart on. Each failed job application and interview made me more determined that I'd nail the next. I ended up with a internship in the area I wanted to be since I started college, with more responsibility than most entry-level jobs offer.

I learned that not everyone is meant to remain in your life. That I am beautiful despite my flaws. That the people who truly love you, and will forever, are the ones who see you at your lowest points and still love you. That someday you have to accept that the parent, grandparent, best friend you wanted so hard to please isn't going to be there for you, and that's okay.

I've failed, I've fallen. But I'm a fighter, and I always will be.

Xoxo, Victoria 

My Life in Ten Years

I'm not very good at setting future goals for myself.

That's not to say I don't make decisions with the future in mind - I do. In fact, the future is such a important factor that I tend to stress too much about it (rather the opposite effect than the one I'm after).

But after one of my fellow fashion writers tagged me in a post "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" I really started thinking about it, and realized that my answer would be way longer than the length of a FB comment.

So I'm writing out my answer here:

I hope I'll have overcome the struggles I'm dealing with now and have the strength to better overcome the challenges I face then.

I hope I'll be a woman my mum, dad and siblings can be proud of. 

I want to see myself writing, having the confidence to call myself a writer, and not putting off writing when it feels like the words won't come.

I want to travel the world, not just to check off a bucket list, but to experience different cultures, peoples and ways of life that will enrich my own and open my eyes.

I hope to take on every opportunity and experience I gave up because the pain was too great.

I want to love more deeply and fully, even if it means that love isn't returned.

I want to have a beautiful family with my best friend and partner in crime.

I want to keep learning, whether it be a skill, language, or career.

I hope to have found whatever purpose God put me on this earth for, or at the very least be much closer to it than I am today.

Above all, I want to be the best version of myself, and be able to inspire others that if this girl could pick herself up from the lowest point in her life and fulfill her dreams, so can they.

❤️ Victoria

One Year Later

Dear readers,

I truly meant to update you on my activity sooner than this, but a month flew by much faster than I anticipated. Between freelancing and continuing to search for opportunities in NoVa, there wasn't much time to write, nor did I feel like there was much to update you on.

Of course, this was my error as a blogger: punctuality is key. However, with today marking one year since I began writing under the alias of TiaTravelstheWorld, I thought it a good time to go back and look at how my traveler's status has evolved to today.

In many ways, not so much. At least not to the degree I was hoping for. The furthest I've traveled from home in the past year has been NYC (for only a few hours, though believe me it was worth it). The most unexpected trip (aside from the U2 concert) was a weekend at the Homestead resort. I never completed my goal to travel to Wales, nor have I driven cross country, which I've been talking about for years.

Instead of this year being a time for adventure, it was a year of stressing out over how to obtain the goals for myself. I had many sleepless nights and tears shed over the small issue of finding a job in NoVa.

And finally, almost a year later, it all fell into place. At the end of May, I applied for an internship, gained an interview and was offered a position within three days - something I never thought possible! I start in a week, which means in about three days I'm moving to NoVa! (Honestly, after trying to make this a reality for three years, you have no idea how good it feels).

It was a long struggle, and one that I tried to keep everyone aside from some close friends from seeing. Though I am convinced that each seemingly-minuscule step I took throughout this year was a link to my current opportunity. I never would have gotten through to my city paper's editor if I hadn't served him coffee a dozen times, and it was that story (which never made into the paper itself) that caught the eye of the editor at the News Virginian, where I gained most of my journalism experience, worked with a fellow Eagle (!) and which in turn got me the internship at ProActive.

So, yeah, it was a hell of year. But I kept the advice of my favorite politician in mind: When you're going through Hell, keep going (Churchill), and  it led to something I never thought I'd be capable within a few years of graduating.

Now I've hit the most surreal moment of my life so far: I'm breaking out of my two star town like I've wanted to for years...and it's happening so fast, faster than I expected. Somehow I've found the job, the car, the apartment (just this morning!) and it's like whoa, slow down a minute. It's been a whirlwind of trying to catch up with friends before I move and making sure I have all the last minute necessities together.

(Also, I realized with moving on my own away from family, children and pets I'll have more time to write!)

But back to traveling! Of course, being closer to DC means more non-touristy adventures, but there are several trips I have coming up: back to NYC (for longer than seven hours), Philly, Baltimore, and a few other destinations too. The biggest one will be Geneva next year (TBD) when David's parents move to Europe and I get to go with my love to see one of the many countries on my bucket list. Don't worry, I'll keep you updated!

I honestly have all of you to thank for keeping my head (and soul) above water as I struggled to find direction. I've received more encouragement from my readers here and I can't thank you enough. Wherever you are, this isn't goodbye - I'll be in touch through here, phone, Facebook or person! I love you all.

Xoxo,

Victoria

Miles to Go...

Hello readers!

It's a busy time of transition for me, but I want to catch you all up on what I'm doing these days.

Next week will be last as a barista at The By and By, and as much as I'm going to miss the work and the people (especially my great coworkers and the regulars at B&B), I'm excited for the work that's taking over in its place! For the past two weeks, I've been a regular freelancer for the News Virginian out of Waynesboro, and will be doing some News Leader on the side as well. (You can find most of my stories on my Facebook page - the website is lagging a bit behind.)

That's not to say that moving up to the Fredericksburg region isn't still on my mind. However, I have an interview with the Richmond Diocese (more details later) which would keep me in this general region should the opportunity come through. If this were to happen, I'd most likely stay in this area until I'm sent to wherever the Diocese needs me.

Of course, there is always the possibility I will be moving back up to my chosen hometown of FredVegas this summer - it all depends on opportunities!

I've found that it's best to be open to a multitude of different directions, including geographical, throughout this process. It's too easy to be crushed when the one goal you've set for yourself doesn't come through, and that's no way to live. Right now I have one tangible goal: to move out on my own this summer. This isn't based on what job comes through or whether or not I remain in one area or move to another. It all comes down to the opportunities ahead and how to achieve them.

I look at this approaching summer as the summer of recovery and reinvention. The summer where I will become the adult I should have been all through last year. The summer when I will take my passions and run wild with them to create a life I can love and be proud of. The summer when I will regain my health and self-confidence. The summer when I can look back and say "these struggles were worth it because they got me to where I am today."

A person doesn't magically change overnight, I know that. But I know I am different person from who I was two weeks ago, six months, a year ago. Looking back to a year ago this week, I never would have expected to have gone through a year of stress looking for a career I could feel confident in or a year of beating myself up physically or emotionally.

If I had known these struggles were going to rock me, I'd probably have held of graduating for a year. But what good would that have done? Other struggles would have hit me. I wouldn't have had six months experience working in fashion or have met people who have taught me important lessons in my life.

In many ways, this has been the hardest year of my life, certainly of my adult life. There are many moments I never want to live through again, but ultimately they made me stronger. For every time I've fallen, I'll get up and fight harder. And the adventure that's born from these struggles will be so worth it in the end.

Till next week,
 xx Victoria

My Struggle with Body Image and Beauty

I've been hesitant to open on my struggle with body image and eating disorders, but after several people approached me with concern in these past two weeks alone, I feel the need to address the issue.

First off, let me say that I'm not upset with these people; in fact, quite the opposite. Thank you for your concern and offering encouragement for my struggle. You're the reason I'm opening up on this and allowing me to feel that I can speak out on this struggle.

I've dealt with body image issues since elementary school. The first time I was aware of hating my body was after being teased brutally by girls in my second grade class. At the time, I was extremely thin, and the bullying caused me to eat even less and become socially withdrawn. After one girl stood up in my defense, stating that she was the same weight as me, the teasing stopped, but I still saw myself as ugly. That image followed me through middle school and high school, up till I began taking dance as a college freshman. In dance, we were encouraged to see all our individual bodies as beautiful, and that a dancer's body was not determined by size but by our movements.

Consequently, I was in the best physical shape when I was dancing. I was toned (daily stretches and exercises to learn new steps will do that to you), and although I was still slender I wasn't skinny. I didn't have a gaunt face or protruding bones. I looked healthy. Everything about my body looked normal.

But I didn't want normal. Like so many girls in this culture I had been damaged by images of flab-free models and impossible body measurements. One of my favorite models, Miranda Kerr, measures at 117 lbs and 34-24-34 for bust, waist and hips, and she was my role model up until recently (well, until she left Orlando Bloom). And for some reason I was convinced that being around 127 lbs with a 26 inch waist was overweight. Go figure.

Well, I can honestly say I weigh less than Miranda. (I'm not going to say how much less.) But the consequences haven't made me into the person I admired, and I should have been aware of that. Now, eating what I used to consider a healthy diet is a struggle. It's opened my eyes to the fact that being skinny isn't synonymous with being beautiful. Rather, it can detract from it. Extreme skinniness causes me physical pain, low self-confidence and anxiety. It's made me question my ability to live up to my goals in dreams in life.

I often heard of girls like me who are body-shamed by those closest to them: family, friends, significant others. I'm grateful to say that I've never experienced this. I've received amazing support from my mom, my teenage brother, my boyfriend and friends. Their support is what drives me to recover from this disorder, and I'm so thankful for them being in my life.

Everyday is a new step in recovering my confidence and health. Some days are better than others, and I have to keep encouraging myself to see the bad days just as I do the good ones: with the realization that I will gain the confidence to see myself as beautiful, because it's all about the person inside the body, not the size. 

Follow Me To...

Hello readers!

Summer is almost upon us (doesn't feel like it to me, but it's so close!) and I'm starting to compile a list of places to go now that my traveling companions are nearly finished their semesters.

Of course, as an avid travel lover, it's so hard for me to narrow down all the places I want to go. Plus there's the whole work commitment, financial limitations, blah, blah, blah...essentially, I'm trying to be realistic here, so the European tour and cross-country road trip are going to have to go on hold for a little while.

I'm mainly looking for day/weekend trips throughout the DMV region (or anywhere in Virginia for that matter)....and I'm looking at you for suggestions!

Tell me what places you love in Virginia, DC and the surrounding areas, or if your favorite destination is more than a day trip away share your most money-saving savvy tips on how to travel there!

And to thank you all, here are some of my favorite hidden attractions in Virginia:

Roosevelt Island


This spot of wilderness is in the middle of the Potomac between DC and Rosslyn. Of course, how can such a place exist in the middle of DC? I was amazed when hiking through the island's overgrown trails to see metropolitan buildings rising over the border of the Potomac and hearing the roar of the occasional plane overhead. It's a great way to get away for a hike when out for a day of memorial hopping through DC, plus you get to see a massive memorial to Theodore Roosevelt built in the center of the island!

Swannandoa Castle


Just off I-64 in Afton, this Italianate mansion is stunning despite years of neglect, and tours are frequently offered through the castle and the surrounding grounds. I have not been here personally, but I've heard a lot of great stories from friends and co-workers and am definitely making a trip this summer (anyone down?). The pictures of both architecturally beautiful and chills-down-your-spine creepy, especially the watchtower in the back which looks like a convenient place to lock up captured prisoners.

Occoquan


Located on the Occoquan that borders Prince William County in Northern Virginia, this sweet downtown setting is completely removed from the surrounding suburbs. Occoquan is ideal for a casual stroll for summer afternoons, complete with small shops like a dog bakery and wine shop. A dock also offers boat (and paddleboat, I think!) rentals. Plus, cute townhouses that I'm trying to convince my boyfriend would be perfect for a DC commute without being overwhelmed by NoVa's suburbs...

 
Charlottesville Wine Country

I love vineyard hopping, and the Charlottesville region offers some of the most beautiful vineyards and sumptuous wines I've ever tasted. My personal favorites are Jefferson, Trump (no comment about the political candidate) First Colony and Blenheim, and Blenheim in particular has a gorgeous view of the vineyard and mountains. The best part about this particular region is that you can hit five or more vineyards in a single afternoon while still hitting up the Downtown Mall for a lunch break.

And outside of Virginia...Thames Street, Baltimore

During spring break of senior year, my two best girls and I spent two days in Baltimore, intending to visit the aquarium, but at $40 a person, blew off sea animals to go shopping. That night, we walked from our hotel to Thames Street for mango margaritas and Irish coffees by the waterfront. Early March temperatures made this walk brutal, but summer would have made those high heels and sleeveless dresses way more comfortable. I recommend On the Horse You Came in On and Tir na nOg Irish pub and bar for delicious crab and rude Irish waiters. ;)
 
I look forward to hearing your favorite day trip destinations, and hope you'll try out some of these!

xoxo,
Victoria

Five Truths of Self Love

Prior to meeting my boyfriend, a lot of people told me, "You can't love someone else before you love yourself."

I never took this comment well because a) all said people were already in relationships (some of them not successful ones) and b) I've never been really good at loving myself.

On the surface, I might not seem like it. I'm a fashion addict (most days anyway), laugh a lot and obsess over espresso and Doctor Who fan theories. I have a boyfriend who adores me, friends who I can trust and count on, and a rescue cat who gives me undivided love and affection. I have parents who encourage me to take risks and write (even if they don't look forward to my leaving the nest officially).

Despite all this support and encouragement from those around me, I feel lost. I feel like I've failed my parents, professors and those who believed in my writing abilities. Most of all, I feel like I've failed myself. When I look at the future, it's so hard to see beyond the life of a starving writer who survives on espresso and the occasional sushi binge.

And for that, I felt I wasn't worthy of love, especially not my own.

It took a lot to regain that self love, especially after eroding myself emotionally and physically. I toyed with the idea of counselling, but I wasn't ready. I knew this change couldn't come from a professional, it had to come from within.

In these past few months, I've made a sincere effort to try loving myself as a person and individual. Here's what I discovered.

1) Self-loathing won't get you anywhere.

Constructive criticism, where you look at a previous situation and strive to do better is one thing. But to look back on past mistakes or slip-ups and hate yourself for what happened is in no way helpful. This type of criticism won't make you a better person; it will only distort your self image to the point where it becomes despair. You feel like there is no hope because of those past mistakes, and so what's the point in trying to do better?

2) Sometimes you have to think of yourself first.

This one is particularly hard for me because I try to justify other peoples' actions by giving them the benefit of the doubt, whether it's a moody co-worker or one of the many guys who hurt me in the past. I don't think empathy is a bad thing, but I often walk that fine line between being sympathetic and giving into other people when I don't necessarily feel comfortable where that puts me. Learning to say no and look out for my own happiness. I know that will sometimes mean disappointing other people, and that alone makes me uncomfortable, but when I catch a glimpse of what truly makes me happy and at peace with myself I have to take the steps to materialize that peace into my own life.

3) Establish role models who will make you a better, happier person. 

With an internship in the fashion industry, I get images of thinner-than-Barbie models in gorgeous clothes made for women a size 2 or 4 sent to me for review. Although the models are not the center of focus, their waif-life proportions burned into my self loathing and took a dangerous toll on me. It took the harsh reality that copying this physicality wasn't helping me as a person; rather, it hurt me. I began to look towards writers who started off much as I am now, directionless and passionate about storytelling, and following their steps as a writer.

4) Embrace your passions.

I let go of my passion as a creative writer because I felt my work wasn't worth the time of readers. But once I did that, the enjoyment that came from writing and that brought satisfaction into my life began to die. Picking up the pen again and writing down what I felt, researching the topics I wanted to better explain to my readers brought that enthusiasm back into my life. The only one who determines whether your work (whether it be writing or another hobby) is worth something to someone else is you. If you cultivate your passion, it really will pay off.

5) See yourself as others see you.

I became so bogged down by my negatives that I failed to see the qualities other people saw in me. At my lowest point, the rock bottom that forced me to climb up, I thought, "If I have a boyfriend who loves me, then I've got to be worth something." I read through his letters, recalled the times I spent with girlfriends and family, trying to grasp who was this girl that people loved and admired and how could I find her in myself?

Ultimately I'm still in the process, but realizing these truths drive me forward everyday and make me believe in, and love myself, as a person.

Hallow This Ground, and the Role of Metaphor

As many of you know, I attempt to be an avid writer. Ideas and inspirations for various stories and essays bombard my thoughts constantly, but when it actually comes to putting the pen to paper (or fingers to the keypad) I fall short.

Sometimes it's sheer laziness. Other times its because I don't feel like my stories are worth telling. In fact, it's been months since the urge to write has hit me so hard that I was compelled to do anything about it. Until last week.

I am a huge fan of my creative writing professors, and my academic adviser, Colin Rafferty, just published his first book, Hallow This Ground. It's a collection of nonfiction essays focusing on memorials and monuments (whose difference I didn't fully understand until now) ranging from Kansas City, Missouri to Berlin, Germany. The essays are a mix of historical fact and personal reflection, and I can't recommend this book enough.

The essay which caught my attention most was Surfacing. In this essay, Rafferty writes about the sinking of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a freighter that sank in Lake Superior in 1975. What I love about this essay is the use of metaphor. On the surface (sorry, I had to), the essay appears to be the retelling of the sinking, Rafferty's quest to discover more about the tragedy and his connection to one crew member, Robert Rafferty. Halfway through the essay, Rafferty brings in his girlfriend at the time, the person who pushed him most to investigate his connection to the ship. Their relationship ended shortly after their trip to the Lake Superior memorial.

I love Rafferty's use of metaphor to tell the story of this sinking relationship through the lens of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Anyone can tell the story of a relationship on the rocks, and plenty of people have. But the use of metaphor allows for a unique retelling aside from the simple "we met, things got hard, now it's over". 

Midway through Hallow This Ground, I was struck with the need to write. Not just an idea that I could tuck away in the back of my mind. This was an urge that I hadn't felt since my college days. And I found myself reaching for a pen and scribbling notes into one of my journals.

For years I've attempted to write about a relationship I had hoped would last but was crumbling from the first weeks and eventually shattered two years ago. Writing the timeline and my doubts about its success at the time helped me to heal, but I could never find a framework that could grasp the essence of what I was feeling those three years. Raffetry's use of metaphor sparked an idea that had been looming right there in the open, but I never paid attention to: Chandler Hall, the business and psychology building on the Mary Washington campus which was torn down about two years.

I was neither a business or psych major and had little connection to the building. But it was in Chandler that I met this guy. During my first draft of the story I came across a picture of us standing in the grove behind the building, smiling like nothing was going to separate us. An odd shiver crept through me when I realized that grove is now a parking lot. When I showed the essay to Rafferty during workshop, he mentioned the photograph as a good touch. Now as I look back on the essay, I see the photograph as a summary of the relationship: how some relationships in our lives must be torn down to make room for better things. It's painful at the time, but the end result is worth the pain.

Cheers,

Victoria

P.S. I am looking for readers who love to offer constructive criticism to read the essay once it's complete! Message me if you're interested!

Why Rescue Cats are the Best

I'm an unashamed cat lover. I maintain an Instagram page for my two kittens (@bella.and.annie) and submit to sleeping on the edge of my bed so my kitties can bask in comfort. I've had twenty cats in my lifetime (yes, I counted) and remember all their little details: names, colors, demeanor and meow type.

Yes, I'm crazy.

Up till Annie, number 20, all of the cat acquiring has been through my parents. About half our cat population came from stray kittens who were dropped off by their mom's (probably because they saw the overfed felines sleeping in our windows), the other half from actively rescuing cats from the side (or middle) of the road, injured kitties who limped to our door for a handout or neighbors who turned out their pets due to "inconvenience".  Let me tell you, there are times that caring for five plus cats has seemed pretty inconvenient, but I just suck it up because these little guys are as much here for me as I am for them.

Once adopted, my cats have always chosen a particular human to bestow extra love on. Sylvester was my first, and for all fifteen years of his life he gave more love than most humans give out. He stayed up with me after watching one horror film too many, and when I was finally able to turn out the lights would wrap his front legs around my neck, resting his face on my cheek. He came running when I called his same (high pitched, holding out the first and last syllables) and would answer in a barely perceptible whispered "mew". Sylvester fought illness after illness until July 1, 2016, and eight months later I still miss his sweet mew and lion-loud purr.

Three days later, my dad and brother came across little Bella lying in the middle of a bridge covered in cinders and gravel. Because my room was the easiest to convert into a kitten's nursery, Bella became my little baby...for a few months. She was, and still is, a curious little calico with a cuddly disposition and stumpy bobtail, and once she could escape my room it was nearly impossible to coax her back in. She quickly became my mom's shadow and follows her around from first thing in the morning until Mum goes to bed. 

Annie, though, came into the family in a different way: through my cat-napping abilities. Early this past January, Colin and I were driving to the local Sheetz for milkshakes when I got a call from my mom, who was heading to Philly with the rest of the family. "There's a cat at the Sheetz near the highway. I need you to take her home."

When we pulled into the parking lot seconds later, she was standing under an umbrella over near the antifreeze rack and a little orange cat with eyes like Puss in Boots was sniffing her feet. I started petting the cat, but Mum was impatient about this whole cat-napping ordeal. "Grab her now!"

The cat shrieked when I grabbed her and tried to wiggle away. I clutched her even tighter, scooped her up and carried her to the car. The kitty didn't kick or scratch but I'm surprised no one stared at this little orange cat screaming to high heaven as I carried her away from her home under the antifreeze. Once in the car, she hid under the seat but slowly poked out her head to stare at me with huge golden eyes.

"It's okay," I told the kitty. "You're coming home to my house."

She blinked and crouched below the seat as if contemplating if this was any better than the gas station. Colin joined us a few minutes later with a lunchable for the kitty (she didn't think much of it) and we drove home in the pouring rain with a little cat crying in the back seat. She spent the night on the back porch out of the rain that night, but the next evening Annie was moved up to the kitten nursery (aka my room). She's never left. During the day she enjoys romping around the house with Bella, but at bedtime she tucks herself in on top of my suitcase under the bed until she's ready to cuddle up with me.

Despite the craziness of having six cats in one house, I would never change my mind about taking in any of these little guys. They're not just my pets. I'm their human, and we depend on each other. Trust me, take in a rescue and they will be devoted to you for the rest of their lives. 

A Day in the Life

Grey outside my window, an absence of light more than the pre-sunrise needed to energize my sleep deprived body. My eyes snap open, reluctantly, at the sound of buzzing from my phone alarm. My fingers stumble over the touch screen, setting off a series of bleeps before finally making contact with the dismiss button. “Snooze” is a luxury, one I rarely use since graduating from university.

In the grey half-light I search for clothes I should have laid out the night before but, like every night, am unmotivated to do so. I’ve already showered before going to bed so getting dressed and a quick facial takes minutes. I make it downstairs in the half light, managing not to trip over all but one cat. Tea kettle on as I set up a travel mug with a tea bag that I won't touch on the drive in and usually leave in the car when I go into work. The house is still silent when I grab the keys hanging from the spice rack and head out to the car.

I choose a playlist titled "Morning Mix" before pulling out of the driveway and "Suddenly I See" rings out. The opening scene of "The Devil Wears Prada" plays through my memory as I check for traffic and pull out onto the main road; I should be choosing outfits meticulously and wearing designer boots, not settling for skinny jeans and an Abbey Road t-shirt. I write for a fashion magazine, dammit. That's more than Anne Hathaway's job. Forty miles later "Beautiful Day" is playing and I'm still picturing myself in Gongini and Monse while running between NYFW shows as I pull up to my usual parking place a block up from my coffee shop.

The best thing about being a barista is coffee. I love coffee, almost as much as I love my boyfriend. And I love it even more since taking this job at the By and By. An order for a Galway Girl, Irish Cream Mocha special, comes up and I set up a mug with chocolate syrup and Irish cream, set up two shots and grab a cruet of milk for the steamer. I lower the wand into the milk and turn up the temperature, watching as the liquid swirls into an ivory whirlpool.

I let my mind wander as the metal warms my fingers, distracting me from the hum of conversation, music and the grind of the coffee machine. I haven't written anything, aside from the occasional depressed journal entry, for weeks. Partially written manuscripts sit untouched in my laptop, a slightly true science fiction lies half written throughout journals scattered around my bookshelf. My blog hasn't been updated in over a month. My identity as a writer is fading and the worst part is I don't care. After all, what is writing but passion? Passion won't pay the bills or advance the career I want/need. But the longer I abstain from writing, my passion, and therefore my identity, is dying. My eyes drift to the expanding foam and my thoughts vanish much like my inclination to write has.

I don't expect anyone who isn't a barista or espresso addict to understand my obsession with microfoam. It's so essential to a good latte or cappuccino. I love when the foam becomes more solid than milky and can hold a design stenciled in cinnamon. (I rarely do that, I just don't have the patience to keep the cinnamon from going outside the lines.) The foam creeps up the wand, coating the increasingly warming cruet and tingling my fingers. When the metal becomes too hot to hold I turn off the heat, burning my finger tips slightly. Switch on the espresso, watch the shot cups fill with steaming, caramel liquid and pull them off as soon as the machine switches off.

The work day passes quickly, dissolving in some hundred or so espresso drinks and countless drip coffees. I pocket my tips and head out the door, breathing in air untinged by the scent of coffee. After I run errands and drive home I'll have a couple hours to apply to jobs and socialize with the family before calling David. As I hang up and turn out the lights, I see only a cycle repeating with no apparent end in sight.

But I can't let my passion die. Without passion we're bodies without souls, shades without a personality.

Taylor Swift and Me

On my way downtown during my college years, I got the best cat-call of my life. A guy (wearing an Eagles ball cap) saw me from across the street and called “Hey, T. Swift!” It made my already-stressful day pretty great, and confirmed that Taylor Swift and I are indeed twins.

But if you need proof, this is Taylor Swift.

And this is me.

Aside from our matching blue eyes and blonde(ish) hair we both love tea...

 

Baking extremely complicated cookies…

 

Taking selfies with our girls…

And have completely manageable obsessions with cats.

Despite our (as of yet) unconfirmed twinship, I haven’t always ranked myself among the other Swifties of the world. To be honest, there have been times when I haven’t really identified with my musical look-alike.

Like most millennials, I first heard Taylor Swift when she identified as a country singer, singing about the boys in high school who led her on and her dreams of getting together with her crush who was currently dating another girl. I could relate in one sense. I was single, pining after my friend’s older brother (which never worked out, btw), but when the dreamboy’s girlfriend was described as wearing short skirts and high heels, I balked. I’ve never been the sneakers/t-shirt girl until recently, and I felt like it was a stereotype, like these girly girls were the sluts who stole the perfect guy and flaunted him in front of everyone. High school me tended to skip “You Belong With Me” and play “The Best Day.” As a former bully victim who was saved by her protective mom, this was, and still is, my favorite track on “Fearless.”

“Speak Now” more or less echoed my first college crush, which lasted almost three years. Three years too long. The guy in question played with my emotions more than the guy in “Dear John,” yet I thought he was the one I would finally end up with. When he finally walked out of my life midway through junior year, I felt like I was in pieces: my heart, my trust in all guys was shattered. In a sense, it was the best thing to happen to me. Much like Taylor, I submerged all my focus and time in my friendships with other women who didn’t define themselves by their relationships, or lack thereof. Those months following the breakup with my “Dear John” equivalent were the healthiest I’d been in years.

“Red” never fully resonated with my life, though I count it as my favorite T. Swift album to date. The catchy, hurts-your-ears-every-time-you-hear-it “We Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together” was a great confidence booster when my crush, or a friend’s ex, would call up wanting to catch up. As was “22,” which is and will always be my twenties-theme song.

When Miss Swift launched her first pop album, I was skeptical. Taylor was a country singer in my mind, even if her music was more pop/country, and I thought this was just an attempt to edge into pop genre. However, “1989” turned out to be the most relatable I’ve found Taylor Swift.

August 2015, when “Shake It Off” was released, was the beginning of a confusing fall semester. I was entering my final year of college and felt a mix of anticipation and slight trepidation knowing I’d be leaving a great period of my life. I had just seen my former crush since the night he walked out on my life, and shortly after I learned that people I thought I could count on were blaming me for the breakup. I was going through another breakup with a college friend, one which sadly ended unresolved. I heard echoes of these struggles in “Out of the Woods,” “Blank Space,” and “Bad Blood.” Even though it hurt trying to keep my head up against the rumors and back-stabbing, it helped knowing I wasn’t the only one.

“Welcome to New York” is the song I associate most with spring break, when my two best girlfriends and I went to Baltimore and the beginning of a new stage: self-acceptance. I realized that some people weren’t meant to stay in my life forever. I had to let go of them, and shake off the rumors that were being told behind my back. I focused on the people who I knew I could trust: a few trusted girlfriends, my family, and some guys who I knew I could just have fun with and be friends with. I began hanging out with one in particular, David, on study-breaks in coffee shops and found that his sense of humor could keep me smiling for days. I was so happy to have a friendship with him that I didn’t even realize I was falling for him until a month before I graduated. Fortunately, the possibility of a long-distance relationship didn’t worry David, and the past ten months with him have been the best of my life.

Also, I find it hilarious that I realized I’d fallen for David at our favorite coffee shop on a Wednesday night, when my trust in love began again. Coincidence much?

So, thank you, Taylor Swift. I can’t wait to see what happens next!

Xoxo,

Victoria