Goodbye, Avoiding Atrophy (And Hello...?)

BOOBS.

Sorry about that. I was having trouble figuring out how to start this post, so rather than play the type-and-delete game that I've been playing for the last half hour, I decided to just shout out a silly word to get things rolling. Warning: if at any point I start hesitating throughout writing this post, I may shout it again. It's the twelve-year-old in me, and I hope she lives forever.

Anyway, the reason why I am struggling so much with the start of this post is because -- Man, I guess I'll just come right out and say it -- it's my last one.

(I'm just going to let that sink in for a minute before I dig into what it really means. As I'm sure you can imagine, though, this won't all be bad news.)

Yes, this is the last post I will ever write for Avoiding Atrophy. I've been blogging on this site for over four years now, ever since I graduated college and embarked on the journey that is adulthood.

When I started out, I looked like this:

Now, I look like this:

Obviously, time has been quite kind to me.

I mean, really kind, actually. This weird little corner of the Internet that I've created here has been one of my life's biggest, happiest surprises. I started it out thinking, "Hey, my mom and various friends might want to know what I'm up to. Plus, I have thoughts and I would like to put them somewhere."

But it became so-ho-ho much more than that. Through this blog, I've been able to do some wildly cool stuff. I've traveled, launched a writing career, and of course, connected with some of the best humans I could ever imagine (and not to brag, but I can imagine some pretty great humans. Like, for instance, a guy named Neil who wears fun sweaters and always has butterscotch candies in his pockets. You get the idea).

So why oh why would I ever want to leave this place that has been so good to me over the last four years?

You may have already started speculating wildly about the answer to this question.

Is she dying?
Is she pregnant? 
Is she under some sort of spell?

None of these are the case (though, admit it, you thought I was pregnant). The truth is I'm healthy, I drank two glasses of wine last night, and as far as I can tell, I have not been bewitched in any way.

No, the reason I am leaving the world of Avoiding Atrophy is because I've got...plans.

Plans that --

Well...

AH BOOBS OKAY HERE GOES NOTHIN --

Get this, y'all: I am launching a BRAND. NEW. SITE!

Yep, totally new. New title. New focus. New look. New ev-er-y-thang.

But why? Why switch things up? 

As I'm sure you can imagine there are many reasons. I could list them all here for you now, but really, they all boil down to one major truth: it's just time.

Through blogging on Avoiding Atrophy, I have written on a vast array of topics, and while that has always been a joyful thing for me, it's also been somewhat limiting. When you can write about anything, sometimes it's hard to know where to focus your energies. That's why your teachers in school always gave you a writing prompt so that you didn't just drool on a page for thirty minutes.

That said, I'm ready to hone in on just a few subjects I really care about, things that I can regularly commit to so that my readers always have something new to put into their brain-boxes.

But even more than that, I've got plans to make something really special. Starting December 1st, you will be able to join me over at christyoshoney.com (yes, apparently you can just name a website after yourself! This is news to me too!) where I will be dishing out unconventional wisdom for unconventional individuals who want to grow in creativity and confidence. Here's what I mean by that:

Cre.a.tiv.i.ty (noun): The way in which you use your gorgeous brain to look at the world just a little bit differently. This often results in the development of something inspiring, amazing, and just really damn cool.

Con.fi.dence (noun): That warm, glowy feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you, "Yes, you've got this. Even though you put your sweater on inside-out and backwards today, you've still got this. Now go be amazing."

I'm writing for people who have both of these things in spades but who perhaps don't always realize it. Somehow these qualities got buried deep down inside their guts, and they just need some tools to help dig em out.

I want to provide these tools. 

This new site will be a place for people who tend to be turned off by typical self-help methods, people who get a little queasy when they come across cliches like "Live, Laugh, Love" or "If God brings you to it, he'll bring you through it!" It will be a place to get all of the helpful advice and goodness that we all need packaged in a way that won't make you sick.

In many ways, it's going to be sort of like Avoiding Atrophy PLUS. Same weird lady (me). Same bizarre writing voice PLUS actionable lessons that will help your life explode into a fireworks display of confidence, creativity, and joy.

Doesn't that sound fun? I think so.

That said, if any of this is resonating with you, and if you think you'd like to stay on this journey that is Christy O'Shoney writing stuff and releasing it to the world, here's the deal:

In the weeks leading up to December 1st, I'll be sending out updates and goodies straight to my subscriber's inboxes (in a totally non-annoying way, I promise). As we prepare to launch this thing, that will be the #1 way to keep up with the haps with this new site. If in the meantime you want to continue hearing from me and be the first to know when christyoshoney.com goes live (or you know, if you just want to be a friend and show your solidarity), go ahead and click the button below:

While I'm so excited for this move, obviously I'd be lying if I said I wasn't totally freaked out too. All of the expected questions are racing through my mind: What if nobody shows up? What if this is a legit horrible idea? What if all of my fingers fall off and I can't write anymore?

But here's the comfort I have: you. All of you. Over the years, the people who have visited this blog have been some of the most generous, hilarious, and frankly enjoyable folks in the world. Whenever you leave a comment or give a shoutout on Twitter, I sneak over to your profiles and websites, and I am just floored by all of your brilliance, kindness, and zest for life. So if you guys stick with me, I think I'll be just fine.

And that leads me to my obvious conclusion: Thank you. Thank you so much. I just never can believe the support I've received here. From my family, my community, and all of the friends I have made along the way -- I still can't believe you guys show up to read the things I write, and I feel luckier than I can even express. 

And now, as I step away from this place, I'd like to conclude with some thoughts from my first ever post on this here blog:

We could choose to pursue life with a boldness and determination that we always dreamed we would or we could sit, lie, wait, and let our muscles atrophy until we don't even resemble human. For me, I choose the former.

Thanks for making the difficult choice to avoid atrophy with me over the past four years.

Let's keep it up.

Boobs, 

Christy O'Shoney

Pssst PS: If you want to reach out to me in the meantime, feel free to shoot me an email to hello@christyoshoney.com or follow along and give me a shout on Twitter or Instagram. Oh, and here's one more chance to sign up for that mailing list I told you about:

No One Is Paying As Much Attention To You As You Are

Right now, as I write this, my face looks like this:

Now, hang on, fellas. Put those engagement rings away. I'm taken.

But seriously, though, I'm working with half a face today. I just got done with a trip to the dentist in which I received some delightful fillings and a brand spanking new set of retainers. It took three shots of novocain to numb one side of my sensitive little mouth, and now the whole left side of my face is taking a bit of a break from life. It's cool though because it's made my smile really cute and it's made eating thai food for lunch downright hilarious. 

Now, here's a fun, disgusting fact about me: before this week, I hadn't been to the dentist in over four years. I know, I know, shut up. That's a long ass time. I get it. And I'm not even someone who gets squeamish about the whole dentist thing. In fact, I welcome it. I actually enjoy the feeling of having my teeth drilled and scraped. My previous dental providers have even remarked that I'm an exceptionally good patient, and by the way, yes, I would like that engraved on my tombstone, thank you.

So why didn't I go to the dentist for four years? Well, for a couple of years there, I didn't have dental insurance, so I get a free pass for that time, obviously. But after that, I just kind of forgot. I was having so much fun getting married and moving to New York City and working that I stopped paying much mind to these little rocks sticking out of my gums.

But all of that changed recently when I realized something alarming regarding my teeth. Before we get into that, though, let's back up a minute. Lots of minutes, actually, all the way back to my childhood.

This creature, my friends, is Seven-Year-Old Christy. I actually took this picture when I was competing in a beauty pageant, but I have to confess that I've since added the trippy space background whenever I was learning how to use Photoshop for the first time. While there is a lot to look at here (my tremendously thick eyebrows, my impossibly short bangs, the fact that I'm wearing a shower curtain maybe? etc.), what I'd like for you to focus on is my teeth. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I count three in total. 

And while it's pretty normal for a seven-year-old to have some teeth missing, the truth is I looked like this for a majority of my childhood. I was born with a couple fewer teeth than most (for example, I only have one wisdom tooth, WHAT?), and up until I got my braces I had a big ol' gap between my two front teeth. In fact, the only reason I got braces in the first place was to correct my gap-toothed smile.

By the time I got my braces off, all of my teeth were together at last, and as far as I knew that was the end of my precocious grin. That being said, you can imagine my surprise when eleven years after my braces had been removed, in the year 2015, I looked in the mirror and realized that my gap was BACK.

WHAT IN THE LIVING HELL?! How did this happen?!

When I noticed this seemingly sudden change in my dental structure, I immediately went into an obsessive investigative frenzy. I basically became the Nancy Drew of my own dental mystery. I scoured photos of myself from the last year. For reference, this is what my teeth looked like in March. 

I probably should have asked you beforehand if you wanted to be this close to my mouth. Sorry.

Look! My two front teeth were practically inseparable! SO WHAT HAPPENED?! WHY HAS MY CHILDHOOD GAP RETURNED?

This is the question I brought to my dentist on Tuesday. His initial response was, "What gap?" And when I gestured to what I considered to be the Grand Canyon-sized hole in my mouth, he squinted his eyes, got very close to me, and said, "Oh, that. I guess I can sort of see it." 

For all of his dentistry know-how, he had no theories as to why my teeth had made such a sudden shift, but he was clearly far more perplexed by my obsession with it. Still, he was patient. He told me my options: I could either pay a million-kagillion-flablillion dollars to get Invisalign (those clear, retainery-braces things) or I could just, like, live with it. He gave me a couple of days to think about it.

I walked out of there with stooped shoulders and sad Charlie Brown music playing in my head. However, as I lamented the situation with my husband later that day, he told me it was not a big deal. In fact, according to him, I looked exactly the same as I always had. "Really?" I made him promise. "Really." This made me feel better, and when I consulted some friends, they said they never would have noticed had I not brought it to their attention. 

Really? Really. 

And the thing is, actually, I'm pretty sure they're not lying. I recently read this article from NY Magazine that's been on my mind a lot lately called "You Are Probably Pretty Self-Centered, But So Is Everyone Else." In it, the author, Melissa Dahl, talks about people who are always preoccupied with what other people must be thinking about them. And the good news she offers is that people probably aren't paying much attention to you because they are far too busy paying attention to themselves.

That might seem like a bleak view of humanity, but it comes with a scientific backing. The article sites an interview with behavioral scientist, Nicholas Epsy, whose work centers around the egocentric nature of human beings. That's right, according to SCIENCE, we are all self-centered. Every single one of us. 

In fact, we are so self-focused, says Epsy, that we actually reach the level of "expert." Especially when it comes to our physical appearance, we know our own features so well that we can look at a picture and see when a hair is out of place or an eye is a millimeter too squinty or we have a sudden gap in our front teeth that no one but the Lord could have predicted.

So this means two things for us as humans living in the world together: 1) We can chill out on accusing people of being self-centered (even people who post four pictures of themselves in a blog post) because, welp, we're all guilty of it. And 2) It means that our self-centeredness also means that the things we freak out about and obsess over are likely only noticeable in our own minds. We are the experts of all the weird stuff happening on our face or feet or brains. And everyone else is just too preoccupied getting their doctorate in Self to notice what you've got going on.

That being said, here I sit, with a gap in my teeth. When I went back to the dentist today, I told him I'd hold off on Invisalign, but he still had to fill two cavities, so there's that. I'm sitting at a coffee shop with only half my face in functioning order. I'm trying to sip some cold brew out of a straw, but it's coming out in dribbles on my chin that I am catching in the palms of my hands. 

And you know what? No one around me seems to notice.

Got any weird hang-ups about yourself (that probably nobody but you notices)? Shout em out in the comments section so that I can shower you with compliments instead!

Oh, also, shout out to all my gap-toothed beauties out there. I hope I haven't disparaged us as a group by wanting to rid myself of this gap. It's just a childhood insecurity, so don't mind me. Plus, I hear we're super fashionable now! Now every girl I see with a gap in her teeth, I'm like -- YO is that a model? 

Why I Love My Meat Sack

I posted the following image last night on Instagram, and I thought it might be a good idea to share it here too:

You know what? I'm honestly a big fan of this body of mine. 🙆 Is that an okay thing to say? I think it should be. Whenever I catch myself getting all nitpicky about body business, I like to reflect on all of the things this bod allows me to do. This last month, my body gave me the chance to hike up a mountain, splash in a river, cycle underwater, cycle not underwater, power through hot yoga, deliver meals on foot to people in need, venture through a massive sculpture park, trek through NYC with my family, walk up countless subway station stairs, and jump around like a maniac on a beach. If you're struggling to figure out what's good about the meat sack you're scooting around the earth in, remember that the fact that you can do stuff with it is pretty damn cool. ❤️💃🏄🚴🚣 Also, PS. Hope you don't mind me referring to your body as a "meat sack."

A photo posted by christyoshoney (@christyoshoney) on Sep 1, 2015 at 5:58pm PDT

Now, I don't typically use my Instagram as a platform for posting pictures of myself in a bikini. But for some reason, I just felt called to share this particular one. It was taken the other day at Jones Beach out on Long Island. Something you should know about me: whenever I go to the beach, I pretty much immediately go into full-on toddler mode. I jump around like a madwoman, do cartwheels, karate chop the ocean, and just act like I've never seen a body of water before in my entire life. This particular day, I was in rare form toddler-wise, but honestly, I couldn't help it. The place was practically empty, the water was glittery and perfect, I had a giant bag of Munchies that was giving me life, and I was just really, really happy.

When I got home and looked back at all of the pictures from the day, I couldn't stop laughing at this weirdo running around the beach like a rabid animal. But as I continued scrolling through, I also had another thought: Damn, I look good.

It feels like such a scandal to say that. On this blog, I've talked about my views on body image, I've shared my actual weight, and I've also talked about why it's important to boldly enjoy things about yourself. And still, despite all of my pontificating on the importance of loving the person you are, I recognize that it's a really difficult idea.





But here's what I know: when I see a picture of myself smiling, laughing, and using my body to do fun things that I enjoy -- I just...I think I look good, okay? There are tons of things I could pick apart about my meat sack (by the way, henceforth, I will be subbing the word "meat sack" for the word "body" because I just like it better and I feel like I'm getting repetitive here), but honestly my meat sack enables me to do some really cool stuff. It is not THE most important thing about me, not by a long shot, but it is pretty damn important. From where I stand, it's a gift to be able to haul this thing all over the world. It's strong and soft and short in some places and long in others, and I love it because it's mine. If my meat sack were differently-shaped, I'd certainly find things to love about it, too. But regardless, the good Lord gave me this one meat sack with which to build my life, and I'm not going to act like I'm not totally psyched about it.

So if you've been struggling with your meat sack lately, perhaps it's time to reframe the way you think about it. Don't think about what it is or isn't, but instead think about what it does. Maybe you can jump, kick, dance, or parkour your way up the Empire State Building. If so, whoa, that's amazing. Or maybe you can't do any of those things, but you can breathe in and out, laugh, write, blink in morse code, GROW A HUMAN INSIDE OF YOU, etc. While you may not always realize it, all of those things are pretty amazing too.

Now, that being said, it's totally okay if you want to change some things about your meat sack. Seriously, don't feel guilty if you don't wake up every morning, shouting, "I'M PERFECT JUST AS THE WAY I AM!" But all the while, know that you get points for just existing, so even if it bulges out in places you wish it didn't or it has scales or whatever, show your meat sack some love. It's gotten you this far, after all.

Why do you love YOUR meat sack?

My Tortured Relationship With Email

Up until very recently, I had over 2,000 unopened messages in my Gmail inbox. Does that freak you out? It's okay if it does. Obviously these neglected emails weren't from family members or business contacts, and they certainly weren't declarations of unrequited love (those I make sure to open right away). No, these emails were just promotions from stores, newsletters I accidentally subscribed to, and really weird PR requests (this might be a good time to let PR reps know that I will never write an article about some former NCIS cast member who is publishing a book about salads. Not my thing).

When I've explained my inbox situation, many people usually respond, "Oh girl, that's a lot," or "OH GIRL, I've got 5,000 emails in mine!" There are others, however, who've nearly started convulsing at the mere thought of the unopened emails I've accumulated. You would have thought that instead of saying I had a crowded inbox full of emails, I had said that I had a crowded refrigerator full of human heads. "What?! Are you serious? How could you, you MONSTER?!"

And while I can't quite relate with this intense reaction, I totally get that email is a thing that stresses people out. I mean, hello, it stresses me out. Recently, I caved and decided to perform a merciless inbox purge. I used Unroll.me to unsubscribe from over 500 lists and I blocked the MTA from sending me updates about the B train every three minutes. As of right now, I only have one new email in my inbox.

And you know what, my life isn't any better for it.

Honestly, now my inbox is just this thing that I'm constantly having to maintain, like a garden that I never asked for or some unsightly upper lip hairs THAT I DEFINITELY DO NOT HAVE OKAY?! Every day it seems like I'm somehow added to more lists or I'm missing an important email because it ends up in my spam folder. Keeping up with the health of my inbox just feels like I'm fighting a losing battle.

But email wasn't always like this. In fact, there used to be a certain romance to the concept of email. I know this because of the film You've Got Mail, the 1998 classic wherein a highly unlikely pair -- an owner of a bookstore and an owner of a larger bookstore -- develop a romance by sending lengthy emails about bouquets of pencils and the Upper West Side and whatever else those two weirdos felt like gabbing about. I also know about the romance of email because of a string of technology-centered love songs that came out in the late 90s, the most delightful of which was certainly Britney Spears's Email My Heart (by the way, if you've not heard this song before, or if it's been a good ten years since you last heard it, treat yourself to a listen. It's pure gold).

So what happened exactly? How did email get to be so unsexy? While I can't be completely certain, I would say that the decline began with email forwards -- those chain letters that usually ended with "FORWARD THIS 2 10 PEOPLE OR ELSE UR TRU <3 WILL DIE VIOLENTLY IN A FYRE!" It got particularly bad once elderly relatives caught wind of this practice. I mean, there is nothing like an email forward to make a person realize that their Uncle Jeff is actually a racist. 

But for me, email started becoming the impossible headache that it is whenever I signed up for Gap's newsletter. Did you know that Gap owns, like, everything? Gap, Baby Gap, Gap Body, Old Navy, Old Navy Outlet, Banana Republic, Athleta, Piperlime -- these are all Gap subsidiaries. And do you know how I know that? Because ALL THESE FOOLS ARE SENDING ME EMAILS ON THE REG. LIKE, EVERY DAMN HOUR OF EVERY DAMN DAY. 

And I know I can just unsubscribe (and believe me, I have), but ugh, you get the picture: email has a lot of problems. Spam, viruses, privacy concerns -- these are just a few of the most common things that suck about it. But there's also the embarrassment of accidentally hitting "Reply All" or that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you wake up at 3 AM realizing you forgot to respond to that urgent email and now you're probably fired. It's all just rough.

But email is a necessary evil. I know this. Without it, I wouldn't receive super helpful newsletters from The Nectar Collective or amazing memes from my sister, such as this gem:

So sure, there are definitely upsides. But still, I sometimes reminisce about the days when I didn't have an email account. It was a time in which I was just a little less accessible. I was, like, ten-years-old, but whatever, you catch my drift: I was a freer person back then. There wasn't some strange place on the Internet where Gap could send me targeted ads about stretchy denim. When someone sent me mail, it was usually my grandma, and I never felt rushed to respond to it. And as far as I knew at that time, spam was just some terrible meat my dad was always eating straight out of the can. Life was simpler then.

But I'm not ten-years-old anymore. I'm a grown ass lady with grown ass responsibilities and a grown ass inbox to prove it. And for the most part, I'm fine with it. But just, like, back up off me, Gap. 

How about you? On a scale of 1 - 1,000, how angry does your email inbox make you?

How to Use Airbnb Like A Pro

If you frequent this blog, you may know that I have a well-documented love for Airbnb. Through this wondrous network of home-away-from-homes, I've been able to snuggle up in cabins in upstate New York, attend Alt Summit without having to share a room with five other women, and even find affordable accommodations for my recent trip to Europe. I've also regularly used Airbnb for when I have visitors here in NYC because, for some reason, my parents don't want to sleep on my IKEA sectional couch (I mean, seriously, what's that about?).

If you ask me, Airbnb is the best way to go when it comes to finding the right place to stay. It's cheaper, it's homier, the hosts are wonderful, and it's just a convenient, solid system for making travel easier. I use it so regularly that I actually can't remember the last time I stayed in a hotel.

That being said, since I've been around the Airbnb block a few times, I thought I'd share with you today some of my tips and tricks for booking the best possible experience. Let's do this.

Know what you want

Do you want the whole place to yourself? Is it important for you to have a washer/dryer? Would you like to stay in a treehouse or a riverboat? If you have specific requests, Airbnb does a good job of helping you sort out the listings that just aren't going to work for you. After entering in your dates and location, you can always choose the More Filters option. From there, you can click through a series of checkboxes or even plug in a keyword (e.g. king size bed, beachfront, movie theater on site). Pro tip: If you are traveling somewhere woodsy, wifi is not a given, so filter your search to make sure that you don't end up in a cabin somewhere without any access to Orange Is The New Black.

Don't dismiss private rooms

In terms of room type, you probably know that you have three options to choose from: Entire Place (you get the whole kit-n-kaboodle to yourself), Private Room (you stay in a room where your host will be on site), and Shared Room (you share a room with another human being). As a certified introvert, I always swore that I would never choose any option besides Entire Place. I just didn't like the idea of someone else being around while I hung out in their digs. But while booking a trip to Salt Lake City, I noticed that there were a lot of private rooms available for crazy cheap (like $30 a night) that looked really great. I booked one, and man oh man, it was fabulous. My host was a dream. She didn't ask overly personal questions, walk in on me in the bathroom, or hover over my bed a la The Exorcist. She just chilled and answered my questions whenever I had them. I had a private entrance, so it was basically like staying in a hotel room, only super cheap and actually much nicer. All of that to say: even if you're a total loner, a private room might still be a good deal for you.

Read the fine print

Some hosts go to great lengths to describe their listing. Some don't. I often steer clear of the ones that don't because I like to be well-informed of what I'm getting into. But I also look for certain red flags, too. For instance, when a host says, "We LOVE making new friends and we hope you will take some time during your visit to sit down with us, have a scone, and tell us your story" -- that's a big ole NOPE for me. If you're into that sort of thing, go for it, but for me, that's just not my bag. Instead, I look for a host that says, "We enjoy hosting our guests, and while we are always available to answer questions, our aim is to respect your privacy." Sign me up for that. Also, be aware of their cancelation policy or if they have weird house rules (A curfew? Am I 17?).

If your dates are flexible, be flexible

Just like a hotel, Airbnb listings often have a high and a low season, so rates are subject to change depending on the month or even the day of the week. Take a look at the calendar on listings to see the availability and cost of each day. You know, be smart.

Read reviews

Reviews are at the heart of what makes Airbnb great. For one, they hold hosts and guests accountable. Knowing that you are subject to a review process makes you far more likely to be on your best behavior. But for another, they give great insight into what's really going on. A host description could be like, "I have the best house in the world. Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Close to shops. No ghosts or ghouls of any kind, I swear" but then you read the reviews and they are like, "The toilet was broken the entire time I was there, and dude, there were SO. MANY. GHOSTS. If that's an issue for you, don't stay here." (For the record, this is just an example, but man, I kind of wish it were real). Take interest in what a host says about their place, but put your trust in reviews.

Introduce yourself

When you've found a place you love, reach out to the host to say "hello" and make sure they have availability. Be nice, complementary, say what your travels plans are, use proper grammar -- just be a decent human being. Many hosts run their Airbnb listing as a business, but at the same time, they are also welcoming perfect strangers into their home which can be a vulnerable position to be in. Put their mind at ease by showing them you are a considerate person, and you will be far more likely to be approved.

Be a superstar guest

Hosts aren't the only ones who receive a review on Airbnb. Guests do too. Think about that before you clog someone's toilet or crank Metallica at 3 AM. In my most recent experience, my hosts only approved people with one or more reviews, and they said they were most impressed with the ones I had received. Not to brag, but I'm kind of the perfect guest. I tidy up, I say please and thank you, I don't scream in my sleep. I basically just act like a decent human being and all seems to go fairly well. Do the same thing and hosts will be far more likely to trust you to take care of their homes.

Now that you know how to be the best Airbnb user possible, it might be time to finally give it a try! Here's $20 from me to you to use on your first Airbnb adventure!

Have you used Airbnb? What are some of your tips for having the best possible experience?

Spring-a-ling-ding in NYC

It's finally happening. After months of icy winds and exploding manholes and snowpocalypses, I think we can officially call it: Spring is HAPPENING! It is no longer this illusive concept which simply exists on the Instagram feeds of all of my friends back in Texas. It is here. In New York. New York City. WHERE I LIVE.

And this Saturday was the springiest of all spring days that I have ever experienced. Honestly, I'm trying to think of the perfect cultural reference to describe the sheer joy that was Saturday afternoon, but I'm coming up short. The closest I can think of is that scene in The Wizard of Oz when the house lands in Munchkintown and Dorothy steps outside from her world of black and white to a world of vivid color. Only, it was better than that, especially because nothing about Saturday afternoon involved inadvertently murdering a witch (seriously, shouldn't Dorothy be, like, at least a bit more traumatized over that whole thing?)

Every New Yorker flocked to green spaces on Saturday. We ate Mister Frostees, gave each other knowing glances and smiles, and drank cocktails at outdoor tables. All of us. At least that's what it seemed like. The population of NYC genuinely seemed to double in size. The picture above was taken in Union Square, where I spent a good part of the day, but Gothamist shared some pretty amazing pictures of Central Park looking like a giant quilt of humans. Needless to say, we were excited.

This weekend reminded me of how much I love living in a place with actual seasons. Back when I lived in Texas, even though we had queso and bluebonnets and pretty much every wonderful thing on the planet, what we didn't really have was a vast difference between our seasons. It would be hot, it would be less hot, it would be semi-chilly, and then it would be hot again.

But living in New York, I feel like I get to experience the full scope of seasonal beauty. This weekend, as I marveled at how the trees seemed to explode with blooms, I was reminded of the blatant ways in which seasons accurately mirror the human experience. If you'll indulge my sentimentality for a minute, allow me to say this: In life, a metaphorical sun really does come after a metaphorical snow, even if it comes later than we would like. Metaphorical blossoms really do metaphorically bloom from things that once appeared metaphorically dead. I know it's cheesy, and I know it's been said before, but give me a break, I'm still new to this whole seasons thing.

This weekend, I came to realize that while flowers are beautiful things at any time of the year, they are practically a miracle after a miserable winter. And maybe life is like that too.

How are you enjoying Spring (literally or metaphorically)?

What Makes You Hustle?

Yesterday, in the midst of an embarrassingly bad bout of writer's block, I slapped on this "hustle" temporary tattoo from Tattly. This was one of the many inspirational tats that my friend Alex and I included in a gift box for our first ever Next Creative meetup. I've been saving it for a special occasion, a creative emergency of sorts, and yesterday was exactly that. As I pressed a warm rag against my arm and peeled back the waxy layer of paper, suddenly I felt invincible.

Hustle. It's a word that really resonates with me. Whenever I hear it, my mind is immediately transported to my days of Little League softball. I'm nine-years-old, and my coach is hitting grounders in my general vicinity. I make feeble attempts to field the balls. "Hustle!" my coach bellows. "Hustle! Don't just stand there. Hustle!" To be fair, he's got a point. For the most part, I am just standing there. He calls out again, "Hustle! Hustle hustle HUSTLE!"

Truth be told, I had no business ever being on a softball field to begin with. Back then, I'm honestly not even sure I understood what the word "hustle" meant, no matter how loudly it was screamed in my direction. 

But today, when I'm feeling particularly lethargic or I'm struggling to get moving on my writing, I find myself chanting "hustle" like a mantra in my head. Something about it really motivates me. It's one of those words with a sound that seems to imply it's meaning. Its Dutch origin word, hutselen, means "to shake." I love that. Here's my definition though:

Hustle: to work hard, to move with haste, to put your whole self into what you are doing.

While I may not have hustled much on the softball field, I'd like to think I'm hustling now. The thing is it's hard to hustle for something you don't care about. It feels futile to waste energy on something that doesn't really matter to you. But for something you love, it's essential.

Today, I have a lot of things to hustle for. This blog, my readers, my community, my family, my friends, my future -- these are things that make me want to move and shake. There is room for grace, forgiveness, and sometimes a touch of laziness, but at the end of the day, these are the aspects of my life that I want to pour my whole self into.

So today, even though it's a Friday and all I want to do is close up shop and watch a million episodes of Breaking Bad in a row, I'm not going to do that. I'm going to stare at my sweet temp tat for a quick second, and then I'm going to hustle.

What makes you hustle?

How To Write Well And Write Often (Part 2)

A few weeks back, I set out to create a blog post filled with some of my favorite pieces of writing advice, things I've learned from experts and through my own process working as a writer. I quickly realized, however, that I had far too much to say for one post, so I ominously titled it "How to Write Well And Write Often: PART ONE." If you have been holding your breath waiting for Part II, you are most certainly dead because I wrote that post three weeks ago. Whoops. 

But for those of my readers who are still alive and kicking, please enjoy these leftover bits of writing wisdom:

Take yourself on "artist dates"

This little nugget comes from Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, the same book that introduced me to the concept of morning pages (I wrote about those in Part One). While morning pages should be written every single day, artist dates should occur at least once weekly. Artist dates are outings that you take in order to engage your inner child. These should be solitary activities, i.e. don't bring your hubs or your kids or your fun coworker. Just spend time feeding your own artistic brain. This can be as involved as going to a museum across town or as simple as taking a walk in your neighborhood. Just commit to getting out there and having a new experience. It will refresh your mind and consistently provide new material for your writing. Plus, you can casually brag about all the hot dates you've been going on, and it will leave everyone intrigued and possibly concerned. 

Create short assignments*

This is a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do sort of situation. I'm straight up terrible at creating short assignments, but I want to get better. What I often do instead is I sit down at my desk with lofty dreams about the wonderful things I am going to write, and then when I inevitably do not succeed in completing the next great American novel, I sulk. I feel defeated, I pout, and I refuse to let myself enjoy anything for the rest of the day. This is the outcome of having unrealistic expectations, and if you're anything like me, then you know that this is a pretty discouraging feeling. Here's what you should do instead: expect less of yourself. Yeah, there, I said it. Ask yourself, "Self, what do I want to accomplish today?" and whatever your immediate answer is, cut it in half. Say you want to get two pages done. Screw that, change it to one page. Then write that one page, and then eat a cookie. Seriously, actually eat a cookie. Reward yourself and rejoice in the fact that you are in control of this process, that is, as long as you don't have an editor breathing down your neck (a terrifying feeling, by the way). Plus, think about it: if you stick to all of your short assignments, you are going to get a lot more done than if you waste time beating yourself up over the impossible goals you set. 

*This lesson, by the way, comes from Anne Lammott's Bird By Bird, which I already mentioned in Part One, and you know what, what the hell, just buy the damn book already. It really is worth it. 

If you think you can get rid of it, you probably can.

Maybe you've heard the expression, "Kill your darlings," which has been attributed to tons of famous authors, so I'm not even going to go down that rabbit hole. But anyway, "kill your darlings" means that all of those self-indulgent, mushy paragraphs with which you have fallen in love have got to go. For the good of your writing, you've got to get rid of stuff you adore. My rule for editing is that any word or sentence that has the faintest scent of "I could do without this" -- get rid of it. It hurts. It feels like a swift punch to the gut, but it makes a world of difference.

Write sober, edit sober.

Ernest Hemingway is quoted as saying "Write drunk; edit sober," but once again, tons of people believe this to be a misattribution, so whatever. Regardless, even though this wisdom is full of wit and spirit, in practice, I think it's pretty crappy advice. I've tried to write drunk before, and it usually results in Word Documents filled with gems like: "Night donuts are good. Donuts are good at nighttime." That, or I fall asleep before I can write a thing. In my opinion, write sober. Be present for the writing process. And if anything, edit drunk so that you'll be more likely to make rash decisions about what to get rid of.

"Write it down"

It sounds simple, but it's some of the best advice I've ever received. These three words are frequently spoken to me by my dear friend, Patrick. Any time I say something funny or share a somewhat interesting thought, he laughs and says, "Write it down." His reason for doing so is because, well, he knows me. He knows that my memory is basically a drunk toddler. I can't depend on it for anything. So often in life, I'll have a thought that I want to remember, then I will turn to look at a bird eating a cigarette, and by the time I collect myself, I've already forgotten what I wanted to store in my brain. That's why it is essential for me to write things down. Everything. Every tiny, seemingly insignificant glimmer of an idea goes into a notebook or the notes app on my phone or onto the sweaty palm of my hand. For me, most of the writing process happens when I'm not even writing at all, but rather when I'm out experiencing the world (on the train, in conversations, on my artist dates, etc.) That's why I dedicate myself to being a compulsive collector of every bizarre thing the world throws at me. Otherwise, I assure you, I would have legitimately nothing to write about. 

What is your best piece of writing advice?

Let's talk about weight

Today, we're going to talk about weight. Human body weight, that is. And let me start off by saying that I am only an expert in this subject insomuch as I have some weight, and I am a person, which is why I'm really only going to talk about my own human body weight. This might get weirdly personal real quick, y'all, but whatever, let's dive right in.

Like you, my body weight has reflected several different numbers over the course of my life. When I was born, I weighed a little over seven pounds, which I’ve heard is normal for a newborn. At that time, my weight wasn’t of major concern to me. I had more pressing issues such as, you know, being born and things like communicating my need for sustenance.

As I grew older, I became increasingly more aware of my body. In eighth grade, I have a distinct memory of stepping on the scale in my parents’ bathroom about ten times in a row one afternoon. Each time I did, the digital screen read “136.” Back then, I remember those three numbers feeling like a kick in the stomach. Forget the fact that I was a growing, healthy kid. In my thirteen-year-old brain, I genuinely believed that my body was expanding at an alarming rate. I felt a lot like this, actually:

As an adult, my weight has fluctuated within a range of about thirty pounds. At my lowest, I weighed 145, but I have to confess that I only existed at such a weight under the most extreme conditions of my life. As a college student, I worked at a camp every summer, which doesn't sound like Crossfit, I know, but believe me, it was truly physically demanding. In the grueling 100-plus-degree heat, I pushed my body up and down hills while carrying giant water jugs, a massive backpack, and sometimes an eight-year-old or two. I basically never stopped moving or sweating or pushing my body to its limits. I ate seconds every day at breakfast along with chicken fried steak and a side of cake at dinner, and still, I lost weight. Lots of weight. I would leave each summer flat-chested and incapable of regulating my body heat in air-conditioned buildings.

Me doing the camp thing. Note my sweat lines.
Also, feel free to check out my boobs. Psych! They aren't there.

But then I would go back to school, and I would either eat healthy or I wouldn't, and I would soon be back to weighing within 155 and 170 pounds. College was a time where I was rarely happy with the way I looked. While I wasn't a fan of how my summers seemed to rob me of my natural feminine features, I still just wanted so badly to resemble the other girls at my school. Skinny, athletic, bright-eyed with thighs that never touched and chins that never doubled. The more I weighed, the further I felt from the physical ideal I had invented in my mind.

Like most women (and most men, I would assume), I've lived a large part of my life wishing the number on my scale could be different. Over the years, I've obsessed over it, cried over it, and spent a good deal of energy trying to change it.

But now, suddenly and without warning, I've kind of reached this new step in my relationship with my weight, and it's a bit surprising to me, actually. This morning, I stepped on the scale and it reflected back to me what I already knew: I weigh 174 pounds. That's roughly twenty-five times my birth weight, almost forty pounds more than what I weighed in middle school when I thought I looked like a blob. And it is literally one pound more than the weight of the heaviest pit bull in the world.

And you know what, honestly, I feel pretty good. Maybe the best I've ever felt.

Meet Hulk. He weighs 173 pounds. We should swap clothes. (via Bored Panda)

Whenever I share that number (174 pounds), friends often respond by saying, "No! No way. That can't be right." And I'm never really sure how to react to that. Thank you? I guess?

So maybe you think that's a high number. Maybe you think it's low. Maybe you think it's normal. Perhaps you weigh more and perhaps you weigh less. Whatever, I'm not here to make any decisions on whether 174 pounds is a lot.

Because regardless of what my number sounds like to anyone else, the fact is I'm relatively good with it. My entire adult life, even during those summers of poke-able ribs and cheekbones, I have always technically been overweight, at least according to my Body Mass Index. You know about that whole thing, right? BMI: a measurement of relative size which indicates that Brad Pitt is technically obese. Yeah...

So needless to say, this is no different from any other time in my life. But the thing that is different is that lately, for the most part, when I look in the mirror, I like what I see. I enjoy dressing up my body, making my hair big, and putting on a pair of fringed boots and walking out the door. I love my full face, my strong legs, my general appearance. Overall, I just feel like myself.

And I'm not really sure what caused this shift in my perception of my body. Maybe it's the fact that I'm a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit further removed from the dorms at Baylor University. Regardless, I've become a lot less fixated on my numbers. I care about different things now: feeling good, making positive choices -- all that good stuff. I've simply lost interest in pushing against my natural shape.

And by the way, I'm not 100% certain why I decided to write this post today. Perhaps I'll wake up tomorrow wishing I hadn't shared my exact weight with all of my readers. I suppose I just feel like there's still junk to sort out in the larger body image conversation. When we talk about weight, culturally, we tend do it in this vague, roundabout way. We don't mention a lot of specifics, and we certainly never mention numbers. We talk about health, beauty, and we make a hundred different contradictory statements about what it means to have either. And despite everyone's best efforts, many women are still left feeling like crap about themselves.

I guess by putting my number out there today, I mostly just want to take some power away from it. Weight is not this big secret that we need to hide, something that we should only talk about in hushed tones. It's a stat. It's trivia. It's information as scandalous as eye color, blood type, or favorite movie. It is just a thing you've got, and for the most part, it's not even a good indicator of wellness.

So yeah, I weigh 174 pounds, and I look fantastic in a wrap dress. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't wish my number was marginally less, but that honestly doesn't stop me from feeling good about my body. And knowing that has made a big difference for me, and I don't know, maybe it could make a big difference for you too. 

Anyway, how much do YOU weigh?

Haha, jkjkjkjkjk (unless you feel like sharing, I guess)

Got anything to add to this conversation?

Comment below!

What we can all learn from The Dress

I was in my bedroom last night, minding my own business, when my husband walked in with something he seemed desperate to show me. He pulled out a picture on his phone of a dress, an ugly two-toned, lace-detailed dress which was covered by what looked like a pleather mini jacket. He said, "What color is this?" and at first, I didn't know what he meant. This dress was so unmistakably blue and black to me that his question seemed like a trick. Maybe you could call the blue "indigo" if you wanted to get specific about it, but I just didn't know what he was getting at.

I answered him. "Blue and black. Blue with black lace."
"Oh my god," he said. "I thought it was just a joke."
"What? Why, what do you see?" I said.
"White and gold. And 75% of the Internet agrees with me."

By now, you've all seen this dress. Unless you have been asleep or on some really long international flight, this image has come across your eyeballs at some point. You have formed really strong opinions about it, polled all of your friends, and now you are questioning everything you thought you knew about color.

For those who don't know (i.e. no one), this picture was posted to Tumblr, and it quickly spread across the Internet as people began arguing about what colors they were seeing. Most were seeing white and gold. A smaller minority saw blue and black. It escalated very quickly. Here are the survey results from Buzzfeed:

The numbers were stacked against me, BUT HOW?!

When Daniel told me that he saw this dress as gold and white, I was so taken aback. Gold and white? Where? What? You mean that the background is white, right? No, but like the reflection of the light is gold, but it's actually black, right? No. Wait. WAIT. WHAT!

While I wouldn't necessarily call myself stoic, I will say that I'm not always the easiest person to impress. However, once I saw this image, I was positively dazzled. For me, even from the very start, it was never about finding out what color the actual dress was, but rather, understanding why this phenomenon was occurring in the first place (WHICH BY THE WAY, WE STILL DON'T REALLY KNOW). 

But what quickly became even more fascinating to me was how this all played out socially. Buzzfeed quickly released a hilarious post about friendships being ruined by The Dress. People started organizing teams (#WhiteAndGold #BlackAndBlue), busting out their photoshop skills, creating memes. I posted about it on my personal Facebook account and I was so blown away by the variety of responses. There were those who believed it was a GIF (sorry folks, it was a JPG). There were those who posted four paragraph descriptions of how cones work in our eyes. There were others still who began posting vehemently about the actual retail dress (which was indeed unmistakably blue). Regardless of whatever new information emerged, people were indignant about the superiority of their color opinion.

For the most part, the larger conversation essentially looked like this: "You are crazy, it's white and gold." "YOU are crazy, it's blue and black."

It seemed that each side became so singularly focused on invalidating the other side's experience that we neglected the fact that something AMAZING was happening. The whole phenomenon was a unique human event. Just ask color vision researcher Dr. Jay Nietz who, according to his interview in Vice, still has no explanation for it. He hilariously remarked, "I thought I was going to cure blindness, but now I guess I'll do this." 

Yet as the Internet so often does, we turned it into a polarizing argument of who was actually "right," and this is where things went from being super fun to being kind of a bummer. Because the truth is, no one is right. And also everyone is right. We each have had a different experience with this image, and maybe we should just celebrate that. On some level, it's actually kind of beautiful. 

And I don't know, I probably shouldn't take this metaphor too far, but meh, what the hell? I, for one, think the dress served to teach us a lesson that we so often neglect to remember: we are people who see the world differently. It's not just this dumb dress. Every aspect of our worldview has been colored with our own experiences. And perhaps instead of admonishing each other for seeing the world a different way, we should seek to understand each other better. We should ask questions, tune into our differences, and get excited about the fact that they exist. Without foregoing our beliefs, we can still keep ourselves from crapping on everyone else's.

At one point last night, suddenly and without warning, I saw The Dress as gold and white. From what I understand, this happened to a lot of people. For me, it was kind of a nauseating feeling to suddenly see this image so differently, but it was also really thrilling. It went back to black and blue almost immediately, but I'll never forget what it was like to actually see what my friends were seeing.

Soooo...let's see the dress from both sides, folks. The metaphorical dress, that is. See whatever you want to see in that dumb picture.

Yours in Black and Blue,

Christy

My Top 5 Strengths (according to StrengthsFinder)

Uh oh, guys...here comes an overshare (haha jk this entire blog is just one giant overshare):

I'm the type of person who is far more prone to recognize my weaknesses than I am to recognize my strengths.

I know, bummer, right? That's not to say that I don't see myself as being gifted in certain areas, but at the end of the day, I tend to focus a lot more in my life on the areas where I need to grow. My thought process often looks a lot like this:

I need to develop a better routine.
I need to get better at answering emails.
I need to keep an editorial calendar figure out what an editorial calendar is.
I need to be more brave.
I need to eat better and exercise more.
I need to be less negative.
I need to be the kind of person who unloads the dishwasher and answers all of my text messages and eats chia seeds and goes to bed before midnight.

This thought cycle is not a healthy practice. Believe me, I know.

And since I have this propensity for dwelling on areas where I need to improve, I sometimes can be a bit unfocused on my actual strengths, even when they are spelled out for me.

Such was the case when I saw the results of my StrengthsFinder test. By the way, if you're unsure of what StrengthsFinder is, it's essentially exactly what it sounds like. Through a series of about zillion questions, this test determines your top five strengths from a list of 34 (34! Guys, this is a really comprehensive test!). My husband took it a few months back, and he gained so many valuable insights from it that have really helped shape the way he approaches his professional life. He's been encouraging me to take it for the last few weeks, and I finally did yesterday. For the record, you honestly don't have to do a lot of arm-twisting to get me to take a personality test. I've done 'em all -- Meyers Briggs, The Big Five, that one where you figure out what your patronus is. I'm all about getting insight into what the hell is going on with my brain.

The process of actually taking the StrengthsFinder test was quite enlightening. To keep someone like me from obsessing over each question, they only give you 20 seconds to choose your answer. That means, you just have to go with your instincts. Here's an example of how the questions were structured:

For the record, I was too distracted to actually take a screen cap, so this one comes from Huey at Huey's Stuff (he also has some good insights into his experience with StrengthsFinder). Also, if it matters, I answered this question differently. I'm more committed to growth.
As I moved through the test, I found myself feeling (probably needlessly) guilty for some of my answers. There were questions that I answered which looked like this:

I have several friends versus I choose my friends carefully.

My ego is not so inflated to require praise or acclaim versus I require praise and acclaim.

But I was determined to keep it real, and of course, I recommend that for anyone taking this test. It's tempting to pick what you think should be the "right" answer, but of course, the truth is the right answer. 

When I reached the end of the test, I was somewhat spent. And then...my results popped up. You ready, friends? I'll lay em out all nice and huge for you:

Ideation

Empathy

Strategic

Developer

Adaptability

It was interesting looking at this list for a number of reasons. For one, I couldn't help but notice that "Hotness" and "Moxy" were not among my top strengths (these aren't actually listed among the 34 strengths, but how great would it be if they were?). Second, it was in this moment that I truly realized how much I tend to undermine my abilities. Instead of saying that I have empathy, I often say that I'm too sensitive. Instead of saying that I have great ideas, I often say that my brain is a giant, cluttered mess.

In fact, I would argue that the things that we see as weaknesses in ourselves are actually unfocused strengths. On one hand, we like to feel like we have all the potential in the world, but we often end up frustrated that we don't have certain qualities that we see in others. For me, it was actually nice to narrow it down to these five items because instead of reaching for traits outside of my wheelhouse, I was able to say, okay, this is what I've got to work with. How can I make the best of it?

And I've got to say, I kind of seriously love my strengths. I love that I'm a big, multi-idea person. I love that I can sense when people are hurting. I love that I can anticipate outcomes and develop solutions and adapt when all hell breaks loose. These are pretty kick-ass qualities, and I've got them. 

And I'm sure you've got some pretty great ones too, so if you're wondering how best to access them, perhaps StrengthsFinder would be good for you too. It provides tons of information about how best to hone your skills.

A warning, though, friends: you have to pay for it. I know...significant bummer. Still, of all of the personality tests I've taken, this is the one where I truly understand charging a pretty penny. It's deeply insightful and really catered to your individual responses. For instance, my husband and I ended up with the same 5th strength: Adaptability, but his report on "Adaptability" looked WAY different than mine did. 

So if you're into it: go get it. It costs about $14 on Amazon to get the Kindle version (oh yeah, this test also comes with a really insightful book). Let me know if you take it because I want to hear your results! 

But even if you don't take this particular test, I hope you are able to identify a few key areas in life in which you are particularly gifted. Remember that you've got strengths out the wazoo, ones that you may not even be aware of. Ask your friends and loved ones to tell you what they are, and then go out and do amazing things with them. Amen. 

What are your top strengths?

Oh, also, PS, this post wasn't sponsored. Wish it was. That would have been cool. But no, I just like this test.

The Pros and Cons of Working From Home

In my adult life, I have worked in all sorts of professional environments. Small creative spaces, large corporate offices with views of the Manhattan skyline, cubicles, people's living rooms, expansive outdoor properties, live television studios, Anthropologie dressing rooms -- I've been everywhere, man. But over the last year, as a freelance writer, my office has been my apartment. Just like any job, the place where I work has its pros and cons. I get asked a lot about what my experience is like, so for inquiring minds, here are some of my favorite and least favorite things about working from the same place where I take showers and drool in my sleep.

PRO: I've got a fantastic commute.

At my last office job, I worked in Chelsea all the way over on 11th avenue. Every day, I would walk several avenue blocks from the subway, way past the Highline, with the wind off of the Hudson River whipping my face until it felt positively raw. For those of you who are non-New Yorkers, just know this: it was a far walk, and it was no secret that I hated it. Now I take about twenty steps from my bed in the morning, and I am literally in my office. It never gets old.

CON: I have to be intentional about being active.

When I first moved to NYC, it felt relatively easy to stay in shape. Again, my commute was substantial and I was always running around at work, so I got a lot of exercise without even thinking about it. Working from home, though, is a totally different animal. I could easily turn into a lifeless pile of mush if I stopped being deliberate about keeping my body moving. Considering I run a blog called Avoiding Atrophy, I feel like that would be a bad idea.

PRO: I don't have to deal with awkward office culture.

One thing you need to know about me: I hate small talk. So much. I genuinely wish it was socially acceptable to ask, "Oh hey, what's your deepest, darkest secret?" within minutes of meeting someone, but alas, it's not. And as everyone knows, offices are a hotbed for all of the worst kinds of small talk: conversations about the weather, the slowness of the Keurig machine, the malfunctioning air conditioning, what you majored in, how your weekend was -- BLUH! That is like my personal hell. I do not miss these superficial encounters even a little bit.

CON: It can be isolating.

Okay, maybe sometimes I miss those superficial encounters, actually. As an introvert, I often revel in being by myself. Seriously, whenever I think of my "happy place", I always picture me sitting alone by a window just writing in my journal and eating a crepe (is that weird?). But even with my aggressive form of introversion, there are times where I crave human interaction during my work day. It's this realization that led me to make "collaboration" my word of the year. Working from home doesn't have to mean working in a vacuum.

PRO: I can work anywhere.

So yes, working from home is one way to describe what I do, but I actually spend a good deal of my time away from my apartment. Usually, you can find me at a coffee shop, fighting off the urge to buy a second butter scone as I write the next great American novel. JK, I write emails, but still, I enjoy changing up my workspace and exploring NYC through these unique venues. I'm lucky to live near some of the best coffee shops in the city. Maybe I'm biased, but whatevs.

CON: Working in coffee shops can get expensive.

While the idea of writing at a coffee shop has a sort of romantic appeal, it can also get expensive. Sure, there are libraries and other spots to work that don't require the purchase of a latte, but honestly...I just like working at coffee shops. If that means that I pay $3 a day to do so, then so be it. But yeah, I know that it's a little ridiculous, but just like...shut up, okay?

PRO: I can set my own schedule.

This is by far my favorite part about working from home. I am the type of person who gets really drained by the typical 9 - 5 work schedule, so I feel fortunate to be able to craft my own timeline for the day. I get asked about my daily routine A LOT, and I'll definitely write a post about that in the future, but honestly, it changes all the time. There are consistent creative spikes in my day where I am able to be far more productive. Usually 4 - 10 PM is a good time for me to be doing my actual writing, while the fragile morning hours are better suited for answering emails, doing research, and drinking warm lemon water because, believe it or not, I actually do make some good choices every now and then.

CON: It can be difficult to set boundaries between work and family.

Since my husband is usually done with his work day at 6 PM, it's kind of unfortunate that I tend to be in my creative zone just as he's getting home. In general, since my home and my workplace are the same space, it can be really tough to know when it's time to stop. Any time could be work time. Any time could be play time. So when I'm working, I'm dreaming about play, and when I'm playing, I'm stressing about work. I'll get better about it, I promise. Or I won't, and I'll just live the rest of my life with this mildly sick feeling in my stomach. It's manageable though.

PRO: My cat is my coworker.

I mean, look at this guy!

CON: My cat is my coworker.

I mean, look at this guy...

What are some pros and cons about your work environment?