My love affair with #DisneyStyle

Hi friends! I wrote the piece below for a digital magazine back in September--never submitted it and thought I'd share it here. On Instagram I've decided to take part in Courtney Quinn's #ColorMeParkHopper challenge. An excuse for me to fill my feed with cute photos of me at various Disney locations. It's a goal in this time of no goals and another thing I can do to avoid writing my book!

Anyway--check it out if you want. I'll be posting pics every day through March 31st. I'm hoping the below piece can validate what some folks might be feeling right now: depressed, anxious, hopeless, scared while reminding us of the power that we have to give ourselves feelings of joy through imagination, story, music and art. We could all use a little magic right about now.

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It’s weird how depression puts a fog over things that you don’t even realize was there until it’s gone. For the past year that’s how I felt, like I was walking half asleep through a fog that was my life. I felt out of control, I cried all the time and I couldn’t see a way out of it. I went to therapy every week and ugly cried, my eyes swollen with the force of tears rushing to my ducts faster than they could fall and make way for a new wave. And then there were moments of joy, the way it comes like a tiny firefly in a dark cave, just enough to quicken your heart, fill your soul with hope and wonder. Of memories of a time when living wasn’t this hard or painful. But then it would disappear just as quickly as it came, into a dark void. And then came the concerned looks, the “are you okay?”s from acquaintances that don’t actually care to hear the answer. People who I wasn’t ready to share the honest answer with anyway. The worst of them came from people I loved, people who loved me. Those questions were answered with a well of tears or a deep breath or the exasperated shrug of someone who has run out of words to describe how not okay they are.

And life goes on, you go to work, you make meals, you go to birthday parties and watch your favorite shows and shower (once you realize it’s been way to long since you’ve done that). In preparation for what I knew would be a difficult emotional year Mary and I bought annual passes to one of our favorite places: Disneyland. I know what you’re thinking, the monopoly, capitalist, sexist, racist company that has been taking our money fueled be taking advantage of our emotional states. Yes, that one. We love it. I could probably write a book about my love affair with Disneyland and Disney in general but that is not this post so I’ll just have to ask you to trust that there are good reasons and move along. These Disneyland trips peppered the year with pre-scheduled whimsy. What would we do on these trips you might ask?

We put together outfits and we took pictures.

That is pretty much it and it was glorious.

I’ve never been a big fashion girl. Raised by a practical mother that prioritized comfort over trends and lives in a big body that makes access to affordable fashionable clothes basically impossible, it was never modeled. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, but in that military family, has a couple credit cards and military discounts, healthcare and housing-- kind of way. I’d beg for Nike’s in September and get an on sale athletic pair (not Jordans or anything actually cool) 6 months later on discount and on a credit card. Then I'd be shamed for ever wanting them in the first place. That’s been my style—things that I thought were cool and maybe were slightly off trend but adjacent enough to not make me a total reject.

But when it came to these Disneyland trips—the outfits had to be center stage!

It was a whole look from head to toe, including necessary changes sitting neatly folded in a rented locker (you gotta get the locker guys) for the inevitable SoCal nighttime drop in temperature. After the first trip it became increasingly clear that we needed more stuff!

More t-shirts, different bottoms, more purses, fanny packs, earrings!

And I know what you’re thinking—this is why Disney is the devil. But there was something exciting in it for me. When I put on those outfits I felt more like myself than I had felt in years. I was transported into my childhood self, still filled with wonder and hope and a deep belief in magic. I believed in Santa until like 12 and made up several theories as to why he was real and everyone else (including adults) were sorely mistaken. I was excited to dress for those days, to lay out all of my options and do a little fashion show with Mary & Erika the night before. The three of us figuring out how we might coordinate or even match (the dream!). I think my little 90’s baby gay heart pretty much exploded when on one trip we donned the same Mickey spaghetti straps and matching jean jackets with patches we had collected over our past trips (pictured below). I had my best friend and my best girl beside me and we were matching—this is the thing that 90’s teen movies are made of!

It wasn’t too long until I brought that feeling home. Wearing the jean jacket to work anytime I didn’t have important meetings, lovingly clasping rose gold plated and cubic zercona Mickey earrings onto my naked lobes. I had found the joy in dressing, in loving an aesthetic so much because of how it makes you feel. And #Disneystyle (that’s what the bloggers call it) made me feel light and happy. It made me feel like dreams could come true and if you were kind and good, life would unfold beautifully in front of you with a gold shining path and birds singing a song just for you. It’s a different kind of armor. Protective in the way it lights up the parts of me that the world has tried to beat out of me: the silly parts, the childlike parts, the part that isn’t productive or self-sacrificing. And as I’m slowly coming out of the depression fog it is still helping me. Helping me to feel confident and happy so that I can meet whatever new challenge comes with childlike wonder and curiosity. Because at the end of every Disney movie there is a HEA (Happily Ever After) and although I know that life doesn’t work exactly like that, aren’t we all moving towards those HEA moments? Those days, months or years (if we’re lucky) that feel like we’re in the delightful time after the carriage rides off in the sunset. We all deserve those moments—those of us surviving in marginalized bodies even more so.

When I put on my patched jean jacket and my Mickey & Minnie earrings I feel that sense of HEA, even for a moment and I know I can go back to that feeling inside myself when things feel too big or hard or scary.

Equal Parts Light & Dark

It's the Spring Equinox. Right now.

I was reminded yesterday by my favorite astrologer Jaliessa Sipress that we are all on this spinning rock together waiting to die. Which is part "YIKES, too far!" and also "YES, PERSPECTIVE." I'm comforted by the cycles of nature. The way that Spring always comes no matter what. That the equinox gives us exactly the same amount of sunlight and darkness no matter where or what you are on this planet. What a metaphor in this very uncertain time. A metaphor for balance, for waiting, for the consistency of nature. It feels like everything is out of control and then I walk outside of my house with my little dog in tow and it is like every walk I've had before. I hear birds, I see the newest neighborhood blooms, the wild strawberries are starting to pop up starting with little white flowers and everything is beautiful.

And I get it--right now you may be thinking "Bre has really lost it on this existential journey!" Honestly, I have lost "it." I've lost the go-go-go. I've lost the need for productivity (kinda--I'm still an American).

These past 8 months I have been living very similar to how a lot of people are living right now. Quietly at home, trying to stay busy, contemplating life, having long conversations with people I love on FaceTime. This pandemic has not really changed my day to day very much. I'm struck by the reality that last March I dreamed of a moment just like this one: quietly writing on my laptop in my home office, listening to Frozen 2 on the iPod doc (yes you read that right) that I got for Christmas from my parents back in 2009. What seemed impossible to me then is here now, maybe even a little mundane. Getting here has not been easy. Honestly, the only reason I can write this blog without guilt on a Friday afternoon is because we are in a Pandemic, I'm not allowed to leave the house, can't apply for "more sensible" jobs and Mary is busy working on her own thing.

Over the past week I have been inspecting my Begonia (lovingly repotted and gifted to me from my grandmother) waiting for it's little buds to pop into an adorable little bloom. And today they are opening up so sweetly.

3.12 

3.20

I'm not sure where I'm going with all of this--just know that I'm here contemplating life with you if you are doing the same. I'm sitting in deep gratitude for all that I have and humbly making this little offering to you. I hope you'll rest today, this weekend, for the rest of this uncertain time and beyond. I hope you'll journal about Spring and cycles and the unknown. I hope you'll put on music and close your eyes and just listen, don't you remember doing that as a young person? We never do that anymore. I'm sending you so much love, joy and care.

What I'm Reading

The Highly Sensitive Person in Love by Elaine N. Aron, Ph. D.

How to Do Nothing by Jenny Odell

Marlee Grace's Newsletter

Alex Wolf's Newsletter

What I'm Listening To

H.E.R. on repeat

Frozen 2 Soundtrack on repeat

Lauren Ash Intuition Meditation on Insight Timer

My Modern/Jazz Dance playlist (Frank Ocean, Sade, Selena Gomez, Khalid, SZA & more)

What I'm Watching

Frozen 2 (Disney+)

The Bachelorette Season 13 (Tubi)

Hearts Beat Loud (Hulu)

Virgin River (Netflix)

Gilmore Girls (Netflix)

What I'm Doing

Gala Darling COVID-19 EFT Tapping 1 & 2

Meditating

Napping

Petting my dog

FaceTiming with adults and babies and animals

Dancing

Watering my plants

Pandemic at the Disco

This morning while writing my Morning Pages (3 long hand written pages of whatever comes to mind) I wrote the following:

Day 2 of official Rest & Chill as i like to call it. It actually is not day 2 but when I'm reading this back in 30 years it (probably) won't matter what the date is--unless something super crazy happens in the next few days and then my grandchildren are reading this after I'm dead and are all: "OMG, (or some space slang term) Grandma was just rambling about how she was bored and over watching TV when _________ went down!" If that's the case, it is March 19, 2020.

And that's when it hit me. I need to bring back the blog! I've been off Instagram for the past several days and I realized that although it's helping keep me from feeling maj anxious, I'm feeling sad that I'm not connected to all my internet pals. Enter the beautiful 2000's version of Instagram--BLOGS!!! I've been watching old episodes of MTV's Awkward with Mary on Hulu and in every episode Jenna types away her biggest fears and her daily triumphs. I figured since I have a lot of totally free time on my hands (shoutout to Paper Source for closing the store & still paying us for the next two weeks!) I can fill it with a fun project.

So get ready for some funny (hopefully), random, helpful (maybe), inspiring (!) content in this little corner of the internet that is not sponsored by Squarespace. I'll be posting some lists of the things I'm watching, reading, listening to, doing (like my Instagram Syllabi). I'll try to post some more article-type content (like BEDJ from a million years ago) and the age-old Live Journal type content because let's face it if you've made it to this link you're my friend and we can't go get coffee or to yoga (Betty) or to Disneyland (Erika) so this will have to suffice in between FaceTimes.

What I'm Looking Forward To in The New Year: Good Trouble

Last year ended a show that’s been a part of my life for the past 5 years. It showed me an example of what my life might look like in the future and reflected a lot of things about my life in the present: The Fosters

When I was a little girl up into my teen years all my dreams ended at college. It’s as if my imagination couldn’t get past this experience because nobody I knew intimately had done it. I don’t think I dreamed much about having a family of my own. I didn’t obsess about my wedding or the perfect partner. I just focused on being a good girl, making my parents proud and getting to college.

At one point I remember saying that I guess I would marry a guy in the military. All I knew about adult life was military life. I figured being a military wife like my mom would probably be a good idea given that the military provides a built in infrastructure of health care, housing and community. I understood even as a very young person that these things were vital to a “good” adult life.

Once I got to college I started meeting new people. Adults that had very different lives than my parents: professors, staff at the University and the parents and siblings of my new friends. The life of a military wife was swiftly swept off the table.

But once I graduated nothing really replaced it…for 5 years I had no vision for my future. I understand that might sound dramatic but it really is true—I didn’t know where to go after college, what I was supposed to do, how I could achieve something different with no models and few mentors other than professors (who I couldn’t completely emulate as no PhD program would have me).

In 2013, the year Mary and I got married, The Fosters premiered. The story of an interracial lesbian couple and their MANY children. It was marketed to teens (never a deterrent for me and Mary) but instantly spoke to me.

For the next 5 years I would watch in awe as two women loved each other fiercely, held the lives and hearts of their children so tenderly and grew their own careers and passions. If you asked a teen what The Fosters was about they might talk about the kids of the show 5—YES 5 teens that spanned a range of races, sexualities, genders and abilities. They’d say that it was Callie, Jude, Brandon, Jesus or Mariana that they related most to—or a mix of all of them. And as much as I loved to watch the teen drama of the 5 Fosters kids from failed romances to first queer loves and best friend fights it was their moms that changed everything for me.

I finally got to watch something that rang true for me—all of me. The queer, multiracial, black woman who cares about young people and wants so much to contribute in some way to moving the needle of progress forward. 

That was Lena, with her big hair, long limbs and huge heart. 

This blog continues to be about representation even though that wasn’t the initial reason I started it. But media has been everything to me. TV, pop music, YA books, magazines, movies were my babysitters and my best friends and 90% of what I listened to, read about, watched had NOTHING to do with my life. As an adult I thought that would matter less but I can tell you definitively that it does not.

And so without realizing it I started to picture Mary and I in our cute bungalow with our collection of babies sitting at the kitchen island for dinner, folding them into a mama sandwich when being a kid becomes too much to bear, running around in the morning making sure everyone has what they need for a busy day at work and school. All of these images playing to The Fosters theme song 

“It’s not where you come from, it’s where you belong. There’s nothing I would change. I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re surrounded by love and you’re wanted, so never feel alone. You are home to me, right where you belong.” 

And still with those dreams in my head I feel sad for those 5 years before I found The Fosters. Those years that I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing—where I was running from my queerness, trying to prove I was good enough to have a career, a partner, an adult life. It wasn’t the glamorous mix of parties, hook-ups, happy hours and promotions that every piece of media said it would be. It was scary and I sucked and I was lonely.

In comes Good Trouble—The Fosters spin off that premieres in just a few days! The story of Lena and Steph’s daughters post-grad trying to figure out what the hell being an adult is all about in all it’s messy, non-glamorous, you suck at your job and nobody cares about you glory. I mean, it’s kinda glamorous because the main actors are super hot and their costars are super hot but you get what I mean. I can’t wait to watch them try to figure life out.  And of course watch their mamas cheering them on. You guys I literally can’t wait. After watching the full trailer a few weeks ago Callie’s voice declares “We’re Adams-Fosters, we don’t give up” and I totally lost it.

“We’re Adams-Fosters, we don’t give up” 

I guess that’s the new dream—raising amazing adults who go out there, fuck up, have fun and know that their mamas are always there.

A Letter to My Teenage Self

I see you little baby.
I see you trying so hard to be a good girl, the best girl, a perfect girl.

I see your lonely heart, your deep desire to be truly seen and understood.
You queer baby forcing intimacy with best fiends who don't feel as deeply in your relationship as you do.
Conversations center around boys you don't care about but are pretending to. Foreign creatures who don't see you and don't care to.

Boys don't know your brilliance. It scares their closed hearts, you feel too much for teens that feel too much but keep it bottled up inside.
You're so brave the wear your heart is exposed. The way you want so hungrily.
Later you'll learn to cover that up, when you realize it remains too much for most.
But it will be everything to some, hold them close because they are here for you, the real you--not the dulled out version you've created to make everyone else comfortable.

One day you'll want to feel and shine as brightly as you do now.

I see you with your big boobs and your big hair. Taking up space and feeling wrong in all that bigness.
Spread out sweet girl.
Wear the low cut shirt and the short skirt, take your hair out of the minimizing bun and feel the sea breeze blow through every strand.
Smile at how it shines golden in the sun.

Know that you don't have to be better than other people to be worthy of everything you want. You are enough exactly as you are.

I know nobody looks like you--no women in your life have the life you want.
One day you will find mamas, aunties, sisters that inspire you.
Some will look like you, others will have your same spirit and others will be so different that they teach you that difference is not wrong.
They will teach you how to be unapologetically bold, that being bad feels so good and that not saying everything on their heart doesn't mean they don't feel it.

One day you will know love. Complicated, overwhelming unbelievable love. It will be different than the movies. But it will be precious and new and revolution.

I know you feel like you don't matter, nobody understands you or cares about you.
The world is a much more confusing and sad place than your parents told you it'd be.
No amount of A's you get or friends you have will change that.
Just know that the world is also a beautiful and joyful place and it needs your fire.
I need your fire.

Be strong girl, you have everything you need inside of you. Follow your light.

For Philando, Dae'Anna & the Rest of Us

Almost a year ago I took a business trip to a conference at Disneyland. As I walked off the plane and checked my phone for the usual social media updates I saw the name Philando Castile appear over and over on my timeline. As I read the accounts of Philando's murder my mind started swirling, my breath was quick, my heart racing, I was physiologically triggered. I boarded the Disney Express airport shuttle with white families and their children excited for a fun adventure but I was in a daze. I sat down in my seat and cried. Then I opened my work laptop and wrote the next part of this blog. 

July 7, 2016

I must have been about eight or nine years old when I had a dream I would remember my entire life. A dream that became an important part of my black identity, something I would look back on when I searched my brain for what makes me black with white skin and blond hair. I woke up from this dream crying real tears, one of those dreams that felt so real that you were shook up for hours, or as it were, forever.

My mother and I stand in a deserted field, in our direct eye line is my father tied up to a burning cross, KKK members surrounding him, laughing, taunting him, looking on me with disgust.

This was a real fear of mine. Even as a multiracial child growing up in multiracial melting pot Hawaii. I knew from day one that the world hated us, hated me for my proximity to us, even though I could pass as one of them.

I think a lot about how white folks are always trying to protect their children from the world, from violence, pain, war, the tough stuff.  I wish every day that I could have been protected from those things so that I didn’t have to wake up crying in the middle of the night terrified that the KKK would murder my father in front of me. AT. EIGHT. YEARS. OLD.

Today it’s not the KKK although they’re there too, four-year-old Dae'Anna watched her dad get murdered by a racist right in front of her face. My worst nightmare was a reality today for one of my sisters. She’s not the first and I know she won’t be the last.

It’s always there, the fear of violence for being all the things: black, queer, a woman. Social media has thrown these fears into our faces on a 24 hour cycle and I’m never surprised. My first reaction is always angry that anyone has been delusional to ignore that this shit been happening. Angry at the people who ever walk down the street confidently not terrified that someone isn’t going to decide they will be beaten, raped, or killed that day. 

That terror is a slow burn, I barely notice it anymore. The reason I don’t show cleavage because my teacher in high school called home to say my breasts were disruptive to other people’s learning. I guess the discomfort I would feel in learning for the rest of the year for making me feel like my teacher was looking at my breasts didn’t matter to him. The reason that I barely touch my wife in public, especially if we are wearing make-up and heels, because the second we look like any semblance of a girl-on-girl fantasy someone might decide they want to rape us. Or kill us because our love of each other means that men are obsolete and not the center of the universe. The reason I stayed my brothers keeper, 10 years his junior, I fearfully reminded him to “stop yelling” because people might feel threatened by his 6 foot plus black body.

And over the years that fear does something to you. It keeps you from living, keeps you from seeing yourself outside of the gaze of other people. I was once told by one of my white cousins during a conversation about oppression that I seem like I'm "carrying the weight of the world." To that I say yes, it feels like that sometimes. 

It would be nice to get some help carrying it all, but you didn't mean you would help, you meant I should simply stop carrying it. If only that were possible.

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Yesterday morning I did the same social media scan that I always do but this time for my work's Twitter account. I was killing time before an all team meeting we had planned for the majority of the work day. And there on the left side of the screen under the heading "What's Trending" was the verdict for Philando's murderer. Usually I would turn to my all Black team and immediately inform them of this news. We would close our office door and feel our anger, pain and outrage together, something most Black folks have to wait another 8 hours until they get home to do, we are lucky. 

But I didn't do that yesterday. Instead I clicked out of Twitter and I swallowed hard. Swallowed all that pain and fear. Swallowed mourning and hopelessness. Swallowed history and my own heart. 

I couldn't bring myself to turn to my team and open up that place we as Black people keep locked away. It's the place that will swallow us whole and we may never get out of, the place where we feel all of the things that being Black people in this country means, all of the nuances for us individually and all of the pain of our people collectively. 

Later on last night Mary and I went to a Queer Hip Hop event and before the performer came on stage wearing a leather vest and boxing shorts the event organizer took a moment to acknowledge the news of Philando's murderer being acquitted. And as he stood there speaking words of sadness mixed with words of joy for the kick off of SF Pride I did it again. I pushed Philando into that dark place and reminded myself that we still survive. I watched my Queer Black brother tear the stage all the way up and I felt the type of joy/sadness combo that's hard to explain.

And this morning I decided to open up that dark place, let it feel and give it some light. 

For New Grads, Recent Grads & Pretty Much Anyone Who's Ever Graduated

It's that time of year when our feeds are flooded with photos of people achieving more than us. This is also known as graduation season. 

Nothing makes you feel old and unaccomplished like a 25 year old getting a PhD and managing to have amazing hair in one of those stupid hats.

Last week I attended the college graduation of one of my old students at my Alma Mater USF. Beside feeling like an ancient relic, I also felt a rush of happiness with a mix of not so happy memories of life after graduation. As I walked through the sea of students hugging their families I couldn't help but remember that amazing feeling RIGHT after the graduation ceremony.

You know the feeling when you're in your cap and gown and taking pictures and everyone is happy and you're so excited because this is the moment your life will REALLY start.

And about an hour after that, the reality sets in. 

The reality of having your entire family drive you completely crazy, of the fact that you are going to have to say goodbye to all these people you've grown to love and finally the reality that you have to actually do something, make a choice for what's next in your life. I'm telling you, graduations give you all the highs and then take you down to some low lows.

And we never talk about that. We're all, "you're so amazing! you're doing great!" which is true, but there's a whole other part that comes after graduation. After everyone around you has built you up and celebrated you and told you how great you are. It's the disappointment that comes when life doesn't actually miraculously change and become this amazing beginning of a rom com montage of fashionable work outfits and glamorous latte runs while on a call with the London office.

Change is scary and when people around you are banking on your "success" (or rather what success means to them) there's a lot of pressure to make the right decisions.

I've had 3 major graduations in my life and each one of them opened up another chapter of my life, but those chapters weren't really what I expected. Things were harder than I'd thought they'd be and lonelier. With the magic of social media you can forever compare yourself to other people doing "better." Unfortunately, nobody after they've just graduated from anything is posting "I am at a job I'm not sure I like and I am so sad and unfulfilled." Even though that's probably what they're feeling. So you find yourself feeling so confused and wondering what the point of going to school was because maybe you're not in the place you wanted to be. Plus it feels like everyone you graduated with is doing amazing and that just adds insult to injury.

So from one former graduate to new graduates everywhere I want to say things may just be disappointing for a while. You may not land the job or the fellowship you wanted, you may feel the weight of those student loans, you may just miss the high of getting an A (I seriously miss this).

And in those moments I want you to try and remember that feeling of complete confidence and joy you felt during that post-ceremony photoshoot. 

Remember that you are all of those great things people told you on that day and more. 

Remember that your accomplishments aren't the measure of your worth. 

Remember to trust your passions and your gut. 

Remember that if you make a wrong turn, you can always right the ship. 

And as I sit here 4 years after grad school, 9 years after undergrad and a whopping 13 years from high school graduations wondering about my own life, my own career journey and passions,  I'll try and remind myself of all those things too.

Congrats Class of 2017, you're gonna be great.