You’re probably wondering, “how possibly could the glass be half full?” Trust me, you’re preaching to the choir. However, I’ve decided that instead of wallowing in misery (or, as I like to call it, realism), it’s time to take back the reins on my outlook.

A few years ago, I chose to start looking at the “glass half full,” or at least made a conscious effort. Think of it as a fake-it-till-ya-make-it approach. But, somewhere in all of the mire, trying to be optimistic and grateful has renewed my lease on life.

Some days, the glass is half full. If you’re lucky, it’s a very dry, very French, Sauv B. And, sometimes, it’s the Barefoot Moscato that instantly transports you back to a morning spent hunched over your collegiate toilet bowl. Either way, you learn to look at the bright side. Sure, the Barefoot sucks, but think of how much fun you had drinking it in the moment. This is also true of today.

This is not to say that bad things don’t happen. The truth is, bad things do happen. All the time. In varying degrees of stifling atrocity. Learning to feel your feelings, the bad ones too, is an important attribute to hone (for me, with many years of therapy). The glass half full mantra is more so about being able to find a kernel of joy that’s stuck in there somewhere. Things could almost always be worse. Right? Maybe.

One thing I’ve found about being a woman in your 20s, is that there are capricious levels of weird, inconvenient, occasionally wonderful nonsense you have to navigate. It’s like ordering a martini and they bring it with Beefeater instead of Hendricks. Not totally horrible, but not what you envisioned. This is how I feel about a lot of situations I’ve gotten myself into over the years. And, in the age of social media, there is always going to be someone who seems like they’ve got it together better than you do. Instagram is basically like a personal torture chamber. What do you mean you’re not getting engaged, married, pregnant, promoted, finishing your 10th marathon in record time, and travelling to Europe with seemingly unlimited funds? Comparison is the thief of joy, ladies. No one gives a shit about running marathons anyway (unless you do, then rock on). The Europe thing still hurts.

The point of this blog is to make you, whoever you are, feel seen. At least a little bit, in the midst of all of the chaos and self-doubt. I can’t promise any sound advice or path to enlightenment (if you can, please let me know, let’s talk). I am simply here to document the on-going rollercoaster of being a woman. If any of it makes you laugh, ponder, or feel less alone, I’m taking the win.

So, cheers. To the days where the glass is half full, half empty, spilled on your brand new white carpet, or possibly full of something questionable.

Xo, R