2016 Postmortem; If It Would Hurry The Fuck Up

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:

This year bent me over straight-legged; no ways around that. My only redeeming effort was that I refused to starfish. Every month, sometimes every week was a new shit storm getting blown by a clusterfuck that Bukkaked all over my hopes and dreams.

"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:


Boat day with these beauties ☀️ #saltlife #modellife #jlbabes

A photo posted by JYPSEA LOCAL (@jypsealocal) on

It needs to be these two. It needs to be somewhere warm. There needs to be banana rum. 


"Your only limit is you." Unknown Photography: @thejupiterspin Apparel: @freepeople / @theboutiqueniagarafalls

A photo posted by L-da Wild / JP Yoga ➸ (@ldawild) on

The fact that we managed to grow up a speedy ride away from each other and only just met is an abomination. 


Absolutely fucking anywhere but Edmonton. Please. But preferably somewhere like here. Or somewhere with shiny black & metal things. 


But this majestic mother fucker and I need to get lost in some mountains. 


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.

A photo posted by Sia Cooper (@diaryofafitmommyofficial) on

The fact that we've been talking about this for literal years now is kind of terrifying


Shit we're gonna be drunk..


Did you know there are over 300 words for love in canine?

A photo posted by Dessy Pavlova (@dessypavlova) on

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!

The easiest way for any cutthroat person to succeed is to instinctively (and relentlessly) side with the technology of tomorrow, even if that technology is distasteful. Time will eventually validate that position. The only downside is that - until that validation occurs - less competitive people will find you annoying and unlikable.
— Chuck Klosterman

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. 

Taylor Oakes