I heard many people describe the recent eclipse as making them aware of their size in the universe.Read More
If you've been lurking my Insta-story for butts, you'll notice they've been blended with a lot of mentions of pigeons and a blonde in a wedding dress.
Pigeons second, blonde first.
(as it should be)
That's Chelsea & that wedding has been on-again off-again looming in my life for the last decade.
Not surprisingly, I was not asked to speak at the wedding. As the history is deep and largely digitized, I set off in search of the best photos to illustrate why. However it would seem an equal amount of regret and some semblance of maturity set in for both of us as we were quite diligent in destroying our delinquent digital depths.
I even went back as far as Myspace - however it no longer makes physical sense and contains no discernible search feature.
But one thing we both loved and too quickly discounted were Facebook wall overshares - which speak volumes louder than any anecdote either of us could provide; which is no small feat given that we both lack any sense of volume control.
That maniacal scream-snort-laugh progressing to an attempt at a feminine exhale and return to neutral is fairly reflexive of most of our time together.
Our dependance ran deep and drunk and it remains a miracle how Erin didn't skin us both alive.
My ability to smooth talk her into relative compliance coupled with yours to keep me sober and standing long enough to do so lead to many missions in the *NAME OF YOUR SHITTY CAR WITH PEI PLATES THAT YOU REFUSE TO ANSWER ME ABOUT* while substituting windshield wipers for a rag on a stick.
Our differences ran nearly as deep as the drunk - the back of your closet has always been barfed on by bridal bullshit and mine has always been growing in concern.
But that's why it worked. You were my first drunk mom (though certainly not the last as that position has proven to be a life-long one). You were also the same person that convinced an emotionally distraught me to drive 600km solo in November to Sudbury and handed me a measuring cup full of liquor & a pre-selected rebound to regret. But it's the thought that counts, right?
I don't know what the fuck I did for you. I suppose my growing hobbies helped your ego.
And my glass half empty rants seemed to balance yours that was overflowing with dreams and dish soap like your hot tub was in grade 11.
You were around during my seminal struggles & sternum shouting & never shunned me for it. But asked me many questions before asking me to shoot your wedding because of it - and rightfully so. Because what comes out of my mouth is and always has been seemingly decided by a sadistic roulette and you know I've got the stories and scars to share.
But maybe what you don't know is how happy I was to be reminded of all of this.
Our wants and needs took us in entirely opposite directions in life - where it's hard to say if they'd ever fit together again. But they did for one day and I found myself unexpectedly reminded how that never mattered.
I indulged in many human milestones I would not have otherwise because your search for a storybook was so genuine that it was fun to watch.
And nothing that I was able to contribute to your existence needs further documentation in writing on the internet.
But that sensation of searching I felt you feel our whole adolescence was entirely absent from this day.
I spent the whole thing watching your friends and family dote on you in a way I know you've always wanted and rarely received.
I saw your mom smile infinitely more than she screamed.
I caught your dad having a moment before he performed - not because of the crowd but because it was to you.
I heard strangers from Brandon's family speak about yours with such enthusiasm and appreciation that I believed in the bond building.
And that's why I believed you about Brandon. Even as someone that has zero want for her own fairytale and have been been on the outside of your pursuit for yours longer than I've been on the inside.
Because I watched you and your jawline all fucking day and I've never seen you so happy.
He certainly isn't a three-legged dog.
I'm not usually one to rant, but that's a lie.
I'm just such a narcissist that I assume they're informative enough to be forgiven.
(Or that I'm drunk enough to be self deprecating during the delivery) .
But truthfully, speaking about the issues surrounding cis women receiving unprovoked male attention is something I actively avoid.
I appreciate and sympathize immensely with individuals who find themselves labeled as a result of inflated ideas and false accusations. The information age does not exist without the age of misinformation. And now that we're all pseudo-spies from repeated drunk deep creeps, paranoia and "proof" present problems.
I will suss out multiple alternative motives before I decide to label someone a fuckwad because:
1. I too am socially inept (but am more easily forgiven because tits)
2. If you want genuine friends or colleagues of the opposite sex, you cannot shit where you eat. And if that gender dynamic is the same for you as it is for me due to profession or preference-based pigeonholing, at some point you may be forced to watch someone shit where they are eating. Thankfully that has never happened to me, but I have seen Topher drink his own piss on more than two separate occasions.
The reality of being the minority in a circumstance is feeling like the minority in a circumstance. So if this is you, you better get a bit more comfortable with uncomfortable; because it's inevitable.
Do not confuse my attitude with ambivalence. Simply strategy. Since I do run in such circles, I've been forced to learn how to humanely kill unwanted attention without being castrating, even if said human is being a fuckwad.
"That's not fair."
Nope, not usually. Such is life. But you can't just complain; you have to cope until change comes.
And one of my coping mechanisms has been to openly present myself as someone that is prickly and generally adverse to interaction with strangers.
Both of which are true.
However this has not been working lately. I'm not sure if this is some sort of pheromone thing because I am currently on a geographically forced sexual hiatus or because the end of the summer is approaching and the knuckle draggers know females will be re-growing our pants soon, but do. not. want.
And this is not a warning of entitlement or ego but of genuine confusion. I am anxious and small and hyper-observant of energies around me like a strung out squirrel. Therefore you should approach me as such.
Observing from afar and naturally assuming I want nothing to do with you. But if I do want something from you, I'll make it fucking known. And like a squirrel, it's probably your food."
"Squirrels eat a lot of nuts ;)..."
Squirrels eat about 20% of the nuts they scavenge. If we're completing this parallel & the fact that the analogy requires a pair, that means that yes, 1 in 5 will be kept.
The rest become trees - firmly rooted in one position forever.
Sarah Silverman was right; she did get me into squirrels.
I have had an alarming amount of unsolicited/welcomed/respected attention directed my way as of late.
I'm unsure as to why. Yes, there was a general increase that coincided with my increase in public nudity, but both the levels of indecency and overall response tapered off months ago.
I suppose there's nothing I can do asides from attempt to be even more overtly opposed to 99% of human interaction (though that would begin to border on unhygenic). So here's a photo of my ankles:
And a story about how my tits have begun aging. Because they are.
I'm very confident in this as I have seen three different generations of women naked this week. The boobs of past, present and future; all in person and then subsequently magnified on various screens. Beyond that, I have an enormous amount of proof of my own decline over the last year.
"Make a smooth segue into mentioning this month marks one year of blogging"
Fuck you! It's 10am and there isn't enough instant coffee in the world to actually make intermittent fasting tolerable. Be grateful you aren't drooling and just make the arm tentacles express the brain gibberish.
Just wanted to leave you with some weird words as a reminder of what goes with the naked bendy. And a total lack of volume control.
This Year with Taylor's Tits
I told myself and others I started this effort for marketing purposes, which is entirely true. I am genuinely dead enough inside to aid others in exploiting myself and my body for my own gain because being female, exploitative attempts are going to happen to you regardless. So you may as well steer the shitty ship and capitalize.
There have essentially been two iterations of my body (because I am in my 20s. Funny how that works). I suppose 3 if you count the gooey skin bag phase, but we're talking about tits so lets not.
There have been the poorly documented but highly regrettable years I spent skipping 90% of my lectures, consuming melted cheese like a food group (intravenously had it been an option) & using the ramifications to increase my tip percentage at Hooters.
The yelling has been a life-long thing.
There's even a reverse angle on this argument with commentary for context:
And, like the rest of my attempts to be an adult that drinks moderately but slowly degrades into a medium-sized child that does not grasp self-control, this series ends when I find something to lean on.
And then there are the better documented and marginally less regrettable years I still spend consuming melted cheese like a food group, but have figured out how to channel a portion of the yelling into physical activities and make better attempts to control the ramifications.
And like any fitness journey, the tits did not survive. Their remnants remain, but the barely legal boobies above bit the dust like the bras that could not bind them.*
*I have had two bras rupture straight down the centre. Once while driving to get poutine and once cracking my back in grade 11 math. Rizzo was right to dub them "soup bowls".
And though I see a lot of naked ladies, I realized I hadn't seen one quite so young since it was me.
Thankfully there was tequila and this did not set in until I set off on my deep creep of my own tits.
Which has been completed and does not need to be served up on display. If you've made it this far, up to you whether you're willing to put in the work.
I don't purposely choose to live my life as one endless "that's what she said" moment; but I say a lot of shit and identify with that pronoun. So it really doesn't matter what I spit out - because that's what she said.
Off the top - hi Mom. Cause I know you'll read this. Just do so with the reminder of how long I've lived alone and how tiny I am.
And maybe don't show Dad.
God bless the technologically inept.
Moving on: PRIDE
It's here. I'm only marginally queer. But certainly all sorts of weird.
I think all the best people are.
But I like to think I have good taste in humans too. I only want the wonderfully weird for my zombie apocalypse team and feel very fortunate for the ones I've coraled thus far.
And if you feel that effort is over-zealous, irrational or outright paranoid, might I remind you:
Circling back: PRIDE
While I personally don't feel my choices qualify me to participate in pride in the traditionally non-traditional sense, I'd like to think that the intrinsic nature of the celebration extends to the general acknowledgement and attempt at normalization of anything subversive.
I'M GONNA TALK ABOUT ANXIETY AGAIN. You should sense it by now. My issues expect it of you because they simultaneously make me very selfish [as a self-care based coping mechanism] but also hyper-aware of the emotions of those around me; which when coupled with what once presented as incredibly high intelligence/borderline autism [that has now been quietly corralled and streamlined thanks to the simultaneous dulling and calming effects of large amounts of marijuana during formative years] you end up with a multitude of tendencies that float in the grey area between compulsion and talent.
Weird people are usually super useful people thanks to/in spite of the things that make them weird people.
Those that ride the struggle bus also know how to drive; in shifts.
Struggles subside. And it's interesting how our coping mechanisms naturally start to fuck off once you stop needing them.
If you don't feed the monster, it can't grow.
But you can still see us, if you're looking. Plucked out of a crowd because you're trying too hard to blend in you end up standing out. It's inevitably going to happen every now and then because you can't control the uncontrollable or rationalize with the irrational.
LIFE IS GOOD SO MY ANXIETY HAS LEVELLED BUT I AM STILL A BIZARRE LITTLE CREATURE AT THE CORE BECAUSE OF MY UPBRINGING AND INHERENT MENTAL INSTABILITIES.
I WAS TRYING TO BE ELOQUENT IN MY EUPHEMISMS BUT I'LL JUST BE YELLY AS PER USUAL
* Brooke: Human Filter
It's bound to slip and you're bound to slip up and expose yourself as the emotional craft project that you feel like.
But fuck it. Because the things that make you weird usually mirror the things that make you great.
You're just only looking at one side.
While sometimes it looks like a motionless shell of a human, high-functioning is a real label that is achievable & maintainable; through constant, daily (if not hourly) self-awareness, maintenance and control. And if that sounds like a lot, it's because it is. But if you're in limbo, I promise you it's worth the effort.
You'll never be 100%. 90%, if you're lucky. But that's still a great number.
So in the spirit of "fuck it", the only festive spirit I'm physically capable of being in, here is an exercise in humility and a reminder that anxiety isn't synonymous with nerves or fear.
And that sometimes it's just down to fuck with you.
Pick your battles:
5. I have control issues. I try and use them to my advantage. But busy grocery stores full of idiots buying low-fat sour cream give me rage blackouts.
4. I look at my keys a lot when I'm out. Usually once an hour.
3. In high anxiety moments, I find it almost impossible to form sentences or use my hands. I often gauge my levels by how well I can roll a joint.
2. The "Happy Birthday" song is my first notable nonsense trigger and I was unable to be present for any rendition of it until high school.
1. I smell books. Especially if the pages are thicker.
Let me give you something she gave to me; without expecting reciprocity. Because when was the last time that happened for you? (I couldn't remember either) Here it is:Read More
"The time has come," the internet said.
"to talk of all the things; of butts and boobs and BodyRock. And 'Do More' ramblings."
All of which I have been occupying myself with while attempting to avoid drowning on the sidewalk.
I've spent most of my adolescent and adult life hoping that if I wished hard enough, learning by sleeping on books would become a reality.
But since that never seemed to take off, I started spending time standing close to talented individuals hoping that some sort of same-room-but-don't-fucking-touch-me osmosis would occur.
Whether or not that was a success is hard to determine and wildly subjective. But nonetheless it has brought me into the fold of a group of wonderful(ly weird) humans that support and encourage my aversion to pants (and made my 'best side' painfully obvious)
Recently I spent far too long far too hungover attempting to record some insight I'm supposed to have to this whole naked photo thing because nudity and cameras are apparently synonymous in my life regardless of my roll. Again, whether or not that was a success is hard to determine and wildly subjective.
But it is now in the Do More Forum, which if you are a human with a camera and a love of boobs and dry humour, you should certainly join.
Now that life has momentarily stopped dropkicking my existence, I don't have much to shout about.
But I still don't grocery shop. I would be wise to invest in UberEATS (but I'm confident it's managed by a very tardy Satan).
So here's to better days and zebra capes
And soon I get to see this human, which used to make me so excited that I accidentally punched her in the face once.*
I'm still just as excited because I see her about twice a decade, but now I understand social boundaries and consent.
Life has been happening at an alarming rate and as a result I've been negligent of this effort. But I've also been a lazy piece of shit that has been busy eating and procrastinating.
Anyhow, here's some shit I did recently:
In March I flew to Winnipeg and got naked for Teri Hofford's Boudy Camp
FUCK YES! Thank you to @jagvideosandphoto for this amazing #video of #boudycamp 😍 he showcased all of the awesomeness that we shared as a group from the #epic models ( @tayloroakesproductions and @nikitawhite_plus) to the fab #makeup ( @en.vybeauty) and all of the amazing attendees!! If you want to partake in some of this #fun you can join me at #campdomore2018 for my #beyourbrand course AND perhaps this summer at #SUMMERBOUDYCAMP just outside of #winnipeg 😍😍🏕📷 if you are interested in any of the above, shoot me an email to: email@example.com 😍😍 #terihoffordphotography #thpstudios #winnipegboudoir #boudybabes #getweird #internationalboudoir
I shot a boy shooting himself while we considered shooting each other due to also having three dogs with short man syndrome in the room.
We're back! @bodyrockofficial ✌🏼🌴 first day #bts at @esplanadesxm with @tayloroakesproductions and @jonsimo ✨ we are filming a whole new yoga series here in SXM! So excited for the next couple weeks.. stay tuned xo • • • • • • • • • • • • • #yoga #yogagirl #yogainspiration #vinyasa #yogapostures #thedailyyoga #yogajourney #yogacommunity #yogaeverydamnday #fitness #health #sxm #caribbean #anguilla #islandliving #bodyrock #bodyrockyoga
on an island in the sun ♫ // . . . Spending a few days on the absolutely incredible island of Saba, with just a population of 1900 people, it's like a small town on top of a remote volcanic island. The airport has the shortest runway in the world, landing and taking off are nothing short of terrifying but it's so worth it. . . . . #Saba #SabaIsland #theunspoiledqueen #caribbean #djiphantom4 #dronephotography #instadrone #drone photo #phantom4 #dji #dutchwestindies
And I get to shoot things like this
And now without warning or real reason whatsoever (in true anxiety disorder fashion), lets talk about mental illness again!
Because why not.
But mainly because it keeps coming up. And I hope it continues to. Because you can't beat what you can't face.
As of late, I've found myself in circumstances being asked to describe the experience of having anxiety. It sounds like such a general catch-all term for being afraid.
It's so far from founded fear.
It's more akin to seeing a spider, your brain recognizing that you see a spider and responding with "It has too many legs to properly predict how it will move and it wants to throw its self at my face and live in my hair forever and then I'll have to shave it and be bald to keep from feeling like there are bugs on my head."
Honestly, I’m not sure what for. I don’t know what, if anything, this could trigger.
But I’m so desensitized to it now that I shouldn’t be the judge of that.
A healthy mind starts at a 1 and escalates to a 10. Stress, happiness, sadness, whatever. 1-10
An anxious mind starts at a 10 and needs to be brought down to a 1. Mania, depression, paranoia. 10-1.
There’s no science in that sentence, just retrospective reflection.
It can complicate simple tasks. And it can heighten simple stressors.
Things like going to the grocery store, socializing in unfamiliar situations, losing things, airports, babies, money, health. You may start at a 1 getting on an airplane and end up at a 5 thanks to turbulence and losing the arm rest war. I’ll get on an airplane starting at a 10 because I’m about to relinquish all control of my belongings, well being and freedom to move my limbs. Plus babies, forced into being unproductive, physical proximity to a crowd of strangers, lines, every single system is entirely illogical and stupid…and then turbulence.
I’m a logical human and a reasonably smart one. I watch lots of videos of planes getting skull-fucked by wind and staying in the air. I know the statistics and the car crash analogy and all the reasons that I should not fear it. But when that sudden drop hits your stomach and your eyes widen, mine roll back in my head to the gruesome land of “shit that will never actually happen but your brain is going to continuously tell you it might.” And it is very vivid.
There isn’t a voice in there [I swear], but lets give it one to make this easier;
“So we’re going to die…”
“Statistically that’s super unlikely.”
“I know. But we’re going to.”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
“Even if we make it, you’re gonna have to deal with the overhead bins. And everything is shaking around in there. What if your bag gets buried? It’s heavy and you’re tiny. You’re going to have to climb on the seat and ab wriggle it out of there. But you’re kind of drunk so what if your ankles get caught on the armrest and you fall backwards because of the weight of the bag? Or just holding up that line as the person behind you does that weird scooch into your personal space like that will somehow make you vacate the plane faster. And then your bags are going to hit every fucking row of seats from 25B to the front of the plane because you brought too much shit and it’s too heavy for your tiny bird body. What if all the pockets have opened up because somehow the force of the turbulence has fucked with the zippers? Now your important things like your wallet and passport and keys might be at risk of slipping out and being lost forever. Did you even bring your passport? You must have, you’re on this plane. But hopefully it’s still in that bag. What about your wallet? Is it zipped up? Do you have any cash in it? How much? Is it the same amount you left the house with this morning? Do you think you lost any along the way? What about the keys? Do you even have your keys? Do you have the keys?”
“Are you sure? When was the last time you saw the keys? Touched the keys? Did you lock your door? Did you leave your keys in the door? You should check for the keys. Just go look for the keys.”
“They’re in the overhead and I’m in the middle.”
“Just go look for the keys. Check your bag for the keys.”
“Go look for the keys. Just go look at the keys. You need to see your keys to know you have your keys. Are you sure you have the keys? You need to start making a plan for what you will do if you don’t have the keys.”
**I keep these bags under the seat in front of me. I always check for my keys. I have never lost my keys/a key/any key.**
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know. See ya in 6 minutes when you’re standing in the bathroom and another airpocket comes and you suddenly picture yourself flying into the ceiling because one of the wings has ripped off and that crazy vacuum hole opens up in the side of the plane and everyones faces are getting shredded on the jagged metal as they get sucked out”
I watched way too many horror movies in my formative years. Mischa Barton stole my innocence. The Sixth Sense reminded me so much of what my daydreams are like that it became a trigger. I innately feared I would turn corners and see dead people. I knew that would never happen, there was no delusion involved. And yet having to sleep in a bed that had space between the bottom and the floor became my biggest fear. All I could picture were her hands popping out and grabbing me. I could picture it so vividly I felt inside what I imagine it would have been like to live that moment.
In case you were curious, it’s fucking terrifying.
I couldn’t help it or control it or reason it away no matter how hard I tried. It just was. To the point that I slept in a sleeping bag at the foot of my bed for several months. It was the only way I could fall asleep. Finally I just asked to put my mattress on the floor so I could try and sleep in a bed again.
I didn’t have an “under the bed” until I went to university. The paranoia returned and I would have to check every night. Embarrassingly and knowing how stupid it was. Because it was the only way I could sleep.
Sometimes I still have to check.
Reason doesn’t work on something innately unreasonable.
Which brings you to this place of frustrated self-loathing.
You know better.
You know you know better.
You are capable and intelligent and logical.
And yet you can’t stop it.
No matter how hard you try, as soon as it kicks you in the gut the fight is on. You usually win, but it’s always a fight. And it’s tiring. You may have been physically still all day, and mentally you’ve been duelling the devil.
You just want to put your head down, but there’s still so much to do. Fuck there’s so much to do. Always. And you can’t forget anything because that sets off a chain reaction of bad shit. Have you checked your email? Is it even working? Did you pay off your credit card? Are you an idiot and have been doing your spreadsheets all wrong and this is the moment you find out you’re actually epically broke? Where are your keys?
- The Anxiety Spiral
And yes you do just stand there staring as all of this garbage flies through your brain. Or at best you try and force some incoherent cross between speech and sound out your face hole. Chances are you’ll fail at that second one.
But you're probably a good listener.
After almost posting an inadvertently rapey Instagram caption this morning, I was reminded it's International Women's Day. And since I do a lot of stuff with a lot of those and am one of those myself, I feel as though maybe I should say some things. So here it goes:
There isn't a woman alive that hasn't hit the ceiling. In her job, her relationship, her culture. Every one of us has felt that hand of old ideas and even older traditions unexpectedly grab you by the back of the collar and yank you back.
It's scary. It's unfair. And it's a very real reminder that we still have so, so far to go.
But you know what pigeonholes women more than systemic oppression? Ourselves.
Since we now live with seemingly endless options, upgrades and swipes, perfection now somehow seems like a more attainable reality. And the effort to attain it, at least optically, has begun to breed an age of insecurity and anxiety.
On one end of the spectrum, we have more female CEOs and politicians than ever before. And on the other, the female form is so sexualized that almost all Facebook Ads have to be gender neutral to abide by the guidelines.
"Hey Taylor, you take an awful lot of hyper-sexual shots of yourself and other women. Hypocrite?"
I'm glad you brought that up, self. Wanna know the difference? Because there is one.
I think women are phenomenal. Every woman I shoot reminds me of that in a slightly different way. With some I am reminded that the roads currently set out really aren't the only options.
And with others I am reminded why women have been seen as nurturers and the subject of art throughout history.
And it makes me sad to think that almost 99% of those I've met feel like they could be more than they are. They feel like they could be stronger emotionally, different physically, better mothers or wives, gutsier artists or business people. And out of anything that holds them back, they are the worst to themselves.
There are new options, more options. And with those come new challenges and new roadblocks. Some imposed by outside forces, but many come from the internal battle of expectation versus exploration.
You cannot have it all. Anyone that told you that was lying to you to keep you from fearing the future. You will always be making choices and you will always be making sacrifices. But build your life around something worth sacrificing for and the pain will always be worth it.
Whatever that is to you. Go forward with conviction - because standing behind your choices now requires every ounce that you have. Choosing a career will bring you questions about your child bearing years and exposure to oppression and sexism on nauseating levels. But if that is your path, you need to accept and assess what impedes it and learn to play the hand you were dealt. You will play an entirely different hand than the person next to you, but if you're pulling up a chair to a game that existed long before you got there, you must accept that it's a long, long process to change the rules. And you may never get to play with the new ones, but maybe you can be a part of their inception.
And if you find yourself headed down a more traditional road of being a wife, mother and support system, holy shit do we need you! Have you seen our world lately? Terrifying. You're so brave. Fuck this generation; focus all your energy on not raising a useless skin bag. Seriously, we need new people. Capable people. Raise a thinker or a do-er or a problem solver. We don't need more influencers.
The idea that a subservient human is a weaker human is entirely false. The truth is that a subservient human following a weak human is a weaker human. For the woman who "puts her dreams on hold" to be the support of her spouse or family, you are just as powerful. Sometimes more so than the woman that stands alone.
Because you are patient.
You can carry the weight of more than yourself.
And if you have chosen well, you know that following someone's dreams that are bigger than yours will inevitably lead to you accomplishing yours as well.
The head would be nothing without the backbone.
Regardless of where you land or stand or whatever position you're in for this argument, let's abandon the pursuit of perfection. You'll never get it because no one will. Stop stifling yourself in an effort to seem like someone else. In reality, anyone that asks you to change for them does not love you the way you deserve to be loved. Be that your parents, your partner or your friends.
I don't think anyone anticipated this to be easy (they also didn't anticipate Instagram or Tinder...)
But no war is won from the outside and no one that stands on the sidelines with bristol board gets a fucking participation ribbon.
So stop beating yourself up over your choices.
Stop judging the woman next to you and stop judging the woman inside of you. Because at the end of the day all of our vaginas are trying to fucking kill us all and the key to happiness is actually perfecting your pH.
And all of these photos are of this (currently) bald beauty Brenna, because one day a few years ago she asked me to shoot her and said "just don't make me pretty" and I think that changed my life.
A few days from now will mark the 1-year anniversary of my life transforming from a caterpillar into a clusterfuck. And while it feels cliché that it took a full year to come full circle, it genuinely took a full calendar year to be able to stand back up (and because caterpillar's can't technically stand on account of having no bones so, you know...).Read More
This was a year of growth, struggle and change. It almost feels that way on a global level, as I've heard it echoed in far too many conversations to be coincidence.
But in my own little world, that fact was unescapable.
Let's skip the details (unless we're drinking together - in which case I will shout them into your sternum). Here are the facts:
"Taylor, why must you be so graphic?"
Because it felt fucking graphic.
Work stuff, relationship stuff, money stuff, death stuff, moving stuff, health stuff, the works. But here we are at what truly feels like the end. I don't know if that's because I've assigned additional meaning to the sensation coinciding with the end of the calendar year and frankly I don't care. It's interesting to receive strength through suffering - and could be the subject of a whole pile of therapy - but that would be boring. Instead it's brought me to what appears to be a very narcissistic place, but really feels like one of growing clarity; which I suppose is an intensely narcissistic thing to say. Meh.
It's also completely evaporated my social filter and sense of propriety, which I've chosen to mask with mildly introspective self deprecation juxtaposed with borderline erotic photos with empowerment undertones. The results/ramifications of which have been mixed, but the unexpected upside and one of the few silver linings of this year is it has connected me with a ton of talented, unique and driven women. Some of whose lives I've already had the pleasure of invading and some I continue to stalk on Instagram (nothing against the guys, just seems like I've got a thing for girls at the moment).
To the current humans of my harem - fuck I'm happy to have you around. To the ones I've been corralling from afar, now I'm putting it in writing:
The fact that we managed to grow up a speedy ride away from each other and only just met is an abomination.
Opted for a very different color palette tonight, for my composites anyway. I used stock from this location in my two day @creativelive course but knew I would return one day to shoot a subject on location. Thanks to @robswyn the opportunity presented itself! I shot almost a thousand new background plates as well, so it was a good day. Much love to our model @justinaamg as she put up with all my stupid requests like "can you climb that huge ass rock in that dress??" ☺️ . . #igdaily #potd📷 #jaspernationalpark #travelalberta #mountains #wanderlustwednesday #wanderlust #travel #potd #canon5dmkii #reneerobynphotography #photog
Absolutely fucking anywhere but Edmonton. Please. But preferably somewhere like here. Or somewhere with shiny black & metal things.
When you have to shoot at noon because how can you pass up a waterfall on a hot day?! We had the must unbelievable weekend hiking into Statlu lake with the most unexpected surprises! 😍 #lexyparksphotography #lookslikefilm #canadiancreatives #pulsefilm #wanderlust #wanderer #canon_official #chasinglight #totescanadian #explorepei #explorecanada #liveauthentic #livefree #5secondvacay #takemehere #ignant #coastallove #portraitphotography #portrait_perfection #featurepalette #portraitpage #selfportraits #domorewearless #getoutstayout #welltraveled #letsgosomewhere #artistsoninstagram #fineartphotography
But this majestic mother fucker and I need to get lost in some mountains.
Goal setting is one of your most powerful assets; it provides the focus needed to manifest your deepest dreams. I truly believe you can make anything happen, so long as you are backed by a strong support system 💪🏼 . Currently, I have 5 openings for online training - learn more at www.findyourfire.ca ✨✨ (link in bio) With proper planning and execution, there is no reason 2017 shouldn't be your best year yet ✨✨ . #findyourfire #bodyandmind #fitnessmotivation #strongissexy #fitnessgirls #fitgirls #fitchicks #fitnessgoals #fitspiration #fitspo #fitfam #newyeargoals #goaldigger #dreamchaser #2017goals #newyear #newyou #girlswithmuscle #girlswholift #shelifts #leanmuscle #girlswithabs #abs #delts #fitnessmodel #fitlife #ifbb #ifbbpro #ifbbfitness
I have a feeling you'll be the reason for a serious increase in my wardrobe by the end of the summer.
I used to hate my legs. When I say HATE I mean, I wanted to take a pair of scissors and cut off all the fat and dimples that I saw. I purposely avoided shorts and even still today shorts aren't really my "go to" bottoms. I hated my legs because I was ridiculed for my "thunder thighs" by someone who should've lifted me up. Though I still have insecurities about "thigh jiggle," I have learned to accept my body type and to improve on it. I'm not a size 0 nor will I ever be one-without starving myself. Mostly, I don't want to be a damn size 0. I don't want a thigh gap. I love my strong, powerful thighs and hips! These legs helped push my husbands Ford Raptor down our drive away. These hips birthed two healthy babies. So why should I care about a little "thunder" to them? Instead, I've chosen to take what I hated about myself for SO long and see the good in them. Especially now that I've got a daughter. What would Everly think if she saw her mommy calling her own thighs "hideous", "fat", or "ugly?" What would she think if she saw mommy constantly weighing herself on a scale or going on various diets to lose weight or be "skinnier?" I don't want to instill that stigma into my daughters head because I want to teach both her and my son about self love and self care. I want them to have the body confidence that I only wish I could've had as a child. Having a girl has made me even more careful about some of the things I post on social media and make me regret some of the past things. Ladies, I want you to take whatever flaw you think you may have and find the good. Yes, this is your challenge today. Be you, be #flawsome. Outfit from the wonderful @affitnity.
The fact that we've been talking about this for literal years now is kind of terrifying
Shit we're gonna be drunk..
Puppies & pot & pictures. Pronto.
I just need to meet you to make sure you're real because it seems virtually impossible.
It feels like I'm breaking a law of the internet and invoking some weird jinx by directly calling out those I've yet to solidify a real-world connection with. We've become so accustomed to passive interaction at this point that expressing genuine interest with intent is almost uncomfortable.
You first heard the word "escapism" in some grade whatever history class in regards to propaganda.
People were running from reality because it was undeniably unbearable - poverty, death, destruction, systemic failures of all the tallest tentpoles.
Even then, it's power as a tool of persuasion was undeniable.
Now, our "escapism" has become "avoidance". We spend more time "there" than "here". The effects are palpable.
Our world has become such a farce of it's former self that works of fiction are better predictors than the news.
Of course this has always happened. This isn't new. But we're at a new edge where the perceptive:distracting ratio is shifting. Less serves the function of escaping reality simply because it no longer allows us to.
Remember when participation was optional? Having a website was a fringe activity. The anticipation of "I hope they like it" versus the measurable reality of reach & engagement.
I do, but not for long because as you read this I am actively trying to get blackout drunk. Killing the brain cells that remember my year is the only way to escape it anymore. Happy New Year!
These authentic, collaborative and fluff-less dynamics I'm after are what I want for myself and my life. But in this effort to act more like a human with a soul, I also recognize the importance of striking a better balance between what I want and what I need.
In 2017 I need to:
- Read more than I watch
- Write [privately without an ego]
- Buy more groceries
- Be more honest with myself when I'm doing something for myself, something for others, for money or for happiness. And I need to stop making bullshit excuses for doing things for any of those reasons. All are valid
- Accept that I stepped away from a role as an "expert" and need to spend time as a student
- I need to upgrade my camera
- I need to stop moving
- I need my dogs
- I need to say thank you. I've said thank you and attempted to human in regards to a few others that are part of my professional and personal life. But I need to say thank you to a man that is about to exit my entire life. One that has been present for the better part of a decade. The first to truly stand up to me and tell me "no". And for so long, the one that endlessly challenged me and brought me so far out of my shell, I think you wished you could put me back in.
And now I need to shift from this loose attempt at third person to first with no sense of tense:
You didn't make me who I am, but you taught me how to love her and forced me to rely on her. And now I get to go be her. And I think I did the same for you, at least on a level or two. But I don't think either one of us needed it more than the other. We worked to be equals in so many ways and unabashedly got farther than expected. We always said we were capable of more than most and this seems like a final fitting demonstration; walking away and leaving each other whole - out of respect for what was and who we were together. Even though it's probably why we're both on the express train to Hell. Worth it.
However, if like many of my other long-winded (albeit more private) written rants to you, I've grossly overstepped what any normal human would be comfortable discussing and this triggers some sort of desire for digital revenge via the potential remaining content on your phone, just remember I have the hard drives.
And because at the end of the day, I really am that shadow of a sociopath that made you flinch - ladies, I highly recommend. Being a hockey fan is a must - additional points if you cheer for the Canadiens. A sense of family values and a deep appreciation of jazz are where you can improve upon me. And a good butt with a bit of mass is a bonus.
Aside: I never understood bashing after breakups. If you think your ex is nothing more than a waste of skin, what does that say about you and your choices? Maybe we'd all coexist a bit better if we stopped systematically trying to destroy each other by forcing one another to fulfil our ideals versus their own and acting surprised when that fails. Or maybe I really am a sociopath...
Either way, that blog was for me.
This photo is for you.
And that thank you was for this guy, Steve. Who put up with all of THIS ^^^ for years.
I am not easy.
You're a fucking trooper, Skippy. Thanks for not leaving me for dead when I threw up on you and tried to climb through my house full of scaffolding. You earned those floor seats (unfortunately).
And we'll always have Suncourt.
Fuck that place sucked.