Being 30 had mega perks. I still felt like I was “fresh outta my twenties” and just starting a new decade. Being 31 is…well…it’s real, son. I’m officially in it. Not just a toe in the water but the whole damn foot.

So what’s it like? I’m a bit more unapologetically, unabashedly me and that feels pretty awesome. I noticed even on my brithday that I didn’t sweat the small stuff. For those who know me, you know this is pretty big. I didn’t get a manicure before my birthday and that was okay. I didn’t stress about the many friends out of town on a beautiful Saturday in March (I mean can you blame them?!). I did manage to get my hair cut (okay, still very important), my eyebrows were freshly groomed (now concealed by said haircut) and I had a massage and a facial booked within two weeks of the big day. Crushing it.

Real talk, 31 has been filled with a sassy series of sorry-not-sorries. Silk shirts and satin pothos plants. Impromptu girls’ getways and big travel plans for the remainder of the year and even into 2019. I’m fortunate enough to love my job and the people I get to be surrounded by every single day. I love the spaces I’ve created for myself – my home, the products and pieces I fill it with and the perfumes I’ve claimed as “my scent”. I’m that woman now who has added witch hazel toner to her nighttime ritual, flosses because it’s important and has gone to get more mani/pedi’s in the last two years than in my whole life. This luxury once reserved for homecomings and holdays is now a perfectly groomed excuse to catch up with my girlfriends, talk too loudy over calous-scrubbing and to truly prioritize self-care.

Thurdays have been dubbed face-mask-day and while the clay-hardens it serves as prime opportunity to water my plants. Yes, that’s plural. I now am the proud mother of five potted pretties throughout my domicile and they all have names. I also started following a stranger on Instagram for the sole reason that his/her IG handle is @soiledplanties. Officially my new best friend.

I’m phasing out tired and worn Gap basics (nothing wrong with Gap until I realized I’ve had this shirt for a about as long as it took me to floss on a regular basis – so forever), realizing I’m long overdue to invest in some new pillows and will most likely buy new pots for my planted friends in the next couple weeks. I’m also heading to the great Pacific Northwest to spend QT with two of my most wonderful ladies. You also know you’re 31 when you talk about a trip to take together and everyone books separate flights immediately. No time for ho-humming and youc an forget let’s-all-coordinate-every-waking-moment. We’re grown-ass-adults now and we do what we want. Okay maybe not so brash but seirously – this just works.

In our 30s (the real kind not the teetering-on-the-edge-30), we make shit happen. We look out for ourselves and we hone in on the things that matter and make no excuses for them. We rethink our posessions and what we truly want among us, what makes us happy, who makes us happy and we chat about these things over $5 coffee because we wanted that overprice treat and we deserve it. We find out more and more what it’s like to live a little bit more in love with ourselves.

This decade with a little less fear and a lot more fire, is starting to look real fierce…as fierce as the lone grey hair over my right temple.

Four consecutive hugs could only be separated by reminiscing, future missing and misty eyes from imminent tears took place atop creaky wood floors that would have one less set of toe-tips. My bestie/roomie moved out to pursue her dreams of starting her bakery in her hometown in Colorado. I couldn’t be more happy for her but my heart already feels a void of my manicure buddy, late-night early-morning kitchen talk companion, pajama sleep-set wearing, lipstick-on-a-Tuesday lady.

Across the country, my most fabulous fur-wearing, lipstick-twin, half-Israeli, half-Russian, Korean and French speaking Silicon Valley born gal-pal living in Brooklyn texted me a photo of a card I had written her with neon circles denoting the need for clarification. What she though were the words “hard, methink” we were, if fact, “bad, neither”. I loved that 1. she took the time out of her day to stop in a Brooklyn diner to read my card alone and 2. she actually asked me for a translation in my curled slant handwriting. Over the years, I have hovered over many a shoulder in anticipation of assisting and decoding but rarely is my offer accepted. Our text message thread continued in me using more than one punctuation mark?! for the many questions in my brain and her responding with an “Oy” followed by a Vey” which pretty much sums up my state of mind lately.

I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships lately. About how there are some (most) moments in life that are best enjoyed when shared. Like the moment the rain hit San Francisco (EVERYTHINGSTOPOMGWHATISTHISWETNESS – let’s face it…SF homies can’t hang in some rain. They melt. True story.) and among the madness that is already criss-cross intersections (you all know the ones…the walk sign lights up in both directions which means you can WALK DIAGONALLY) a man cuts me off. But not just any man. A man wearing a clear raincoat, with a clear umbrella and a clear backpack. To be completely transparent here, I just wanted to call someone – anyone – and share in this sartorial joy. The mom-voice in my head said “well now that’s just unsafe” but the little kid in me just said “rad”. If I didn’t have a gym bag, purse and a coffee in my hands, I totally would have made that call.

There are certain people who will get certain stories better than others. The best part is you know who those people are – who your go-tos are for the slightly inappropriate comment, the people who share in your locker room woes, your fellow shit-list creators, your silver-lining folks and your down-right giggle factories (my sister). We’ve got our people and each one offers something completely and beautifully unique than the other. My birthday is fast approaching and thinking about who in my posse I want to spend time with, I realize in my 30s I’ve really pared down and subconsciously picked who it is I choose to surround myself with. No more pity invites, acquaintance FOMOers who feel more terribly about missing out than I do about their attendance. It’s a great feeling to be more clear about who I am to better know who lifts me up. The people I surround myself with add so much oomph to my life and though I can be both Cynical Cindy or Bubbly Betsey, my friends get it. They get me.

My parents warned me early on about San Francisco being a transient city. The ebbs and flows of the city’s dreamers can sometimes be hard to adjust to – especially when those dreamers are some of the best people I know. Though I’m dreaming in one spot for the time-being, it’s so uplifting to see some of my favorite people make it happen. The reason they’ve moved away is the very same reason I love them. It’s just the next chapter, it’s not goodbye (and even as I write this, I tell myself again).

Dreamers gonna dream. Friendships gonna friend.

Well, January – you came in hot. Only four weeks into the near year and the following has already been a highlight of 2018. So…more of this:

• Pasture-raised eggs with the bright yellow yolks. They’re just…better.
• Dinner dates. I had a double dinner date with some wonderful men in my life and it was just fantastic. Lots of laughs, great food, and it felt great to feel like a freaking adult but also a kid at the same time.
• Aperitifs. Fancy. French. Need I say more?
• Wearing those “special” wardrobe items. Those skirts, dresses, heels need some serious fresh air.
• Pajama sets. Wear more cute pajamas. This whole sweats + college tee look has got to go. The slippers can stay.
• Bangs. Making the cut within the next two months. (Hay, birthday hair!)
• Writing letters.
• Facial masks. 1x per week. A bubble bath thrown in there wouldn’t hurt either.
• Sweet potatoes. The love is strong, deep and real.
• Friend time. Say ‘yes’ to more manicures, coffee dates, comedy shoes, karaoke sing-outs. This time is precious and in January alone, two of my closest have moved away.
• Dinner parties. Hosting, attending, talking about, planning. These are such a happy place for me.
• Grinding my coffee beans daily. Makes for one mean fresh cup o’ Joe.
• Beach walks. A friend and I met for coffee and when I greeted her with hug, noticed she was barefoot and instead wanted to walk along the beach. This was to my initial dismay until I felt how great it felt to have the wet (cold) sand squeeze between my toes on a gorgeous and sunny (rare) day in SF. It felt more invigorating than sitting with an espresso (even though I think there’s still a way to do both ;))
• Read on Muni. Breaking news: I only scrolled IG for half of my commute this morning. The other half, I read…and it was marvelous.
• Plants. I’m going to get a plant for my room (whoareyoueven?!) I spotted a wavy-leafed adora-flora and want to go back for it! Don’t worry I’m still a bag-lady but now I’ll get the chance to be a Plant Mom. Moving on up!
• Home-made no-knead bread. Well – this isn’t yet the wild-yeast-beast of my dreams yet but this will totally do for now. It’s delicious, gratifying, and makes me think of my dad every time.

So here’s to you, January. Let’s keep the good things going.

It’s four days into the New Year and here are the sartorial highlights:

Stepping out on January 2nd is a man who not only remembered to take out the trash, but didn’t leave home without his scarf – a billowy pink and orange beach towel draped around the neck with one side tossed behind his back in a just-out-for-a-cig-no-big-fashion.

January 4th’s contestant had an oh-so-fashionable Members Only jacket but gripping even tighter than the ribs on the cuffs and neck was a box of Cocoa Puffs and Whole Milk. Keep it simple, keep it classy, friends. No judgement, just a reminder – to each their own and you do you and all that good stuff for 2018 and always.

So there we were on New Year’s Eve. Two couples, four friends at 11:59pm. In 1 minute, we stepped away from our Oh, Hell card game, popped some champagne, scrolled past the Reno New Year’s Celebration on the TV to Ryan Seacrest, put on Mi Gente (because Obama said it was one of the top songs of 2017 and because, well…Obama). Kissed, toasted, had some bubbles and proceeded to extend all our intertwined limbs on the sofa with heavy lids and happy hearts to the tune of “Silence” by Marshmello and Khalid (as we learned not to be confused with DJ Khaled. We still coo.)

I have talked to a lot of people in the past few weeks about New Years resolutions and whether they have them or plan to create some. An overwhelming response of people said, not really and I’m calling bullshit.

I host an annual (second annual) vision-board night for my girlfriends to cut up magazines, chit-chat and adhere images of their upcoming year onto a poster board to be put up in plain sight thoughout the year. The idea here is that what you create and remind yourself on a daily basis manifests in intentional and/or unexpected ways. Often, we cut images that may not have any immediate or apparent significance but come year-end, that image has served a large role in the past 12-months. It’s astonishing that either with or without fully understanding the images we place on the board, they offer some sort of insight into our present or future lives.

So I double-dog-dare you to create some resolutions – they don’t have to be daunting or overwhelming – just a short list of things you want to bring into your year. I get you people out there who aim to create the best version of yourself every single day. You can still do that! This is not an either/or situation – you can create your best you every damn day and set an overarching list of year goals – say what?!

So because I’m a blogger, (read: pretty much an open book) and believe in the power of accountability with outward intention and goal-setting, here goes my list of resolutions for 2018. Because my friends have surprised me lately by knowing me better than I know myself, feel free to comment with things you think should be on there. I’m sure I’ve talked your ear off at one point or another with some lofty idea at one point or another.

First, my annual big-hitters modified for 2018:

1. Travel. Go somewhere new internationally and state-side. This year, I have my eye on Israel and Portland, respectively.
2. Stay active and fit with a focus on strength though weight-training and more yoga. Train more, train hard and remind myself to recover just as hard.
3. Eat healthy, clean and mindfully. Challenge myself with new recipes, flavors and cuisines through cooking and trying new restaurants. Focus on what makes me feel good and fuels my body.

New-comers for 2018 and some old-farts from years past that deserve another shot at the lime-light:

1. Read more. Create the time to read more books this year. Carve out space before bedtime and replace IG-thumb-scrolling with a page-turner. When seated on the bus, pull out that book instead of the phone.
2. Dance more. Be at a gym, dance class or out in da club – find time to dance. It lights my soul up so much and I want more of that.
3. Write more. Day 1, crushing it.
4. Invest more into my relationships. More girls’ nights, more one-on-one friend dates, coffee meet-ups mid-day and just-because check-ins with my homeslices.
5. See my therapist more frequently to get me talking about stuff that’s weighing heavy on my heart. Seeing my therapist once a month is just not cutting it and too much time passes with just my brain and me. I’d like to have another outlet to process my feelings to stay on top of these heartstrings.
6. Communication always. Become a stronger communicator by listening to my heart more and feeling unafraid to share its voice. This is something I’ve been doing a lot of work on this the past several years but this year I want to take it to another level.
7. Clarity. I want to feel clear this year on some grey area feels. This means being okay to see things clearly and not having to justify the shit out of them.
8. Handstand. Literally, get over these long arms of mine. Kick-harder, stronger, faster and fearlessly.
9. Work with my hands. Tap into/continue a form of artistic expression that uses my hands. Pick-up sewing again, continue pottery classes, take photographs (all in favor of J getting the new iPhone X say “I”.)
10. Learn to live minimally. I have gone through major clothing purges in 2017 but 2018 is the year to hone in on the things I choose to surround myself with. This not only applies to clothes but all possessions. My goal is to be super intentional with the things in my life and to not have stuff to have stuff.

So there’s a solid start to my 2018. Here’s to a year of stronger relationships, belly-laughter, identifying and prioritizing the things that matter and that enliven my soul and heart.

2018, I’m coming for you. Be ready for me okaythanks!

Transported to another world by way of a short bus ride, I’m taken by the burnt orange velvet booth spanning the length of the Eastern European cafe with jazz guitar in the air and faint hints of a freshly steeped mint tisane.

Sitting at the counter next to the most handsome man, we have front row seats to the owner prepping her patron’s late lunch or early dinner. With her red bangs cut short, cotton apron, A-line dress and glasses resting on the ball of her nose, she looks authentically the part of a 1950’s Hungarian housewife in the best way possible. Her nasally “yip” cheers as the guitarist fades the first song of the second set. She attends to soup stewing gingerly over an open flame which is then poured into a pink petaled porcelain bowl, every bean carefully scooted into the china’s wide-brim. She spoons a bit of infused oil over the top, rubs toast fresh off the grill with a clove of garlic and cuts it on the bias, rips fresh herbs from a mason jar and sprinkles them on top. The whole experience is intoxicatingly delicate, purposeful and attune.

Grandma would like it here.

Cheese drips over rare slices of pastrami and rye. Challah slices bathe in an egg mixture to become French Toast the next morning. Hot water fills coffee cups, is swirled, then thrown out to keep the cups warm to the touch. A salad is being mixed. Hand-torn radicchio and lettuces gently rubbed up the side of a metal bowl and tossed back down. Dressed in a drizzle of hazelnut oil and a squeeze of a vinaigrette bottle. Pomegranate seeds settle to the bottom, sharp shreds of cheese adorn the top. The salad rests as she reaches for a halved persimmon in a fruit bowl in front of our coffees. She curls her fingers as the thin slices of the vibrant orange fruit fall to the cutting board to be diced and tousled with the moistened leaves.

Grandma would giggle and clap to the jazz guitar here. She’d rest her spoon on the edge of her carved rosy glass plate and nod assuredly to her company.

The musician sings of complicated simple times, of war-times, of lovers. The thimble-sized salt and paper shakers are collected on a single sterling silver tray. The server sits on the amber-colored booth to eat the salad that moments ago was carrying the beat. A waitress changes out of her sweater revealing a polka-dot dress and can be seen around the kitchen corner with a mug of soup. Eastern Europe is closing for the night. It will re-open with soaked French Toast, warm coffee cups and miniature salt and pepper shakers redistributed across the marble and iron tables tomorrow morning.

Grandma would come here on a Sunday morning to have the French Toast. She’d think of grandpa and his love and talent for baking. She’d think of her ten kids and how strong they all are and how they they’ve grown into and raised fine adults. She would have her hair in curls and would fill the cozily narrow space with infectious laughter.

Some of the tiniest details in life fill me with the most joy because they remind of people I love and they way they love. Looking around the cafe, everyone seems enraptured with some form of memory or memory being made. It’s a reminder for me to slow down and enjoy the moment – a theme I’ve come back to a lot this year. Funny how just when I begin to loose sight of it, the message revisits me, this time sitting on a curved wooden bar stool, elbow resting on a marble counter top, fingers laced through a petite handle.

The guitar fades, lights dim. Twilight calls for a change of locale but not before admiring the space in between the light and the dark.

Grandma would love it here.

*This post was inspired by 20th Century Cafe in Hayes Valley, San Francisco. Go now.

I usually get sick by running myself into the ground. Emotionally, physically, mentally – this past week has given me quite the run in every element of my being. The common cold set in, set me back, set me down.

Someone very special in my life brought me chicken soup. The most simple of foods brought the largest magnitude of comfort and ease.

Not even two and a half years can quite prepare you for a death. Especially when the ending of this life on earth happens at 42-years young and makes you instantly yearn for more coffee dates, laughs and relationship stories with your big sister. She took me for my first coffee albeit it being a Starbucks Crappuccino with the coffee hidden behind sugar, ice and vanilla-laden whipped cream. I grew up, and so did my taste-buds. We would now grab hardcore artisan black coffee and stroll the streets of Santa Monica together bonding over farmers markets and the latest LA craze or daze.

Sheri was one of the healthiest people I knew – fellow yoga teacher, kale-loving, skin-glowing, sparkly-eyed, Julia Roberts-smiling Sheri. And then cancer. Until the very end – her eyes sparkled even as her very weak arm reached across my heart to rest on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Her hand rested there and I told her how much I’d miss those coffee runs, what a great mother she is and how I’d be the best Aunt to my niece and nephew that I knew how. How do you even know what to say when the conversation could and would be your last? How does one even describe to someone how much you love them, how much you always would and how things would never quite be the same without them?

So in a very unlike-me kind of way. I didn’t try to over-think it. I didn’t bullet-point my talking points, I didn’t rehearse or plan anything. I looked into those big sparkly eyes and mostly enjoyed seeing. I let the words come, I let the kisses be soft, the fingers intertwine and the gaze be gentle, loving and eternal.

Through it all, I have to wonder what experiences like this are meant to teach us. What could this sadness, pain and unfair situation bring to those of us left with such a heavy heart? And then I thought about my stresses at work, about my social life, managing my schedule and all the doing. The analyzing and thinking about my next move, where I should go, where I should be. And then it hits me. I should be here. In a room with a bunch of people who love Sheri, who love each other and even me who they just met for the mere fact that I’m there too. In all this sadness, there was this unmistakable beauty that shone through the tear-curtained eyes of all those who shuffled in and out of Sheri’s home. There was my brother-in-law’s mother who was making chicken noodle soup for anyone who was sitting, standing, leaning, crying, laughing in the vicinity. Someone opened a bottle of wine, another was cutting cheese with one hand and passing it out with the other. There was a uniting of souls and hearts downstairs while a heart was nearing its last beat upstairs. People went up, people came down. Bodies lay down, bodies break down.

It was heart-breaking, heart-lifting. Absolutely devastating and soul-crushingly beautiful. It was painful, heavy, supportive and loving. I want to stay in this place of feeling clarity of what matters. Love matters. Community matters. Family and friends matter. And we all know this, I know we do – but do we truly live it?

I don’t have a reason for why we loose loved ones too soon. It’s beyond me why there is no pattern or cure to cancer. What I do know is what we can control and that’s to be aware. Aware of what’s in front of us and what we have. Look into eyes deeper, listen closer, love fully, move slowly. Treasure, cherish, forgive and love. Always love. At the end of the day and at the end of the road of life, that’s all there is – love. In the form of a hand on a shoulder, through crying eyes or chicken noodle soup.

Love, always love.

I’m on the express bus home and there is one space left between myself and an elderly gentleman with a cane. He settles into his hard plastic seat, places his earbuds and before the bus can go three blocks down the street, he’s leaning toward me with an America’s Got Talent clip pulled up on his phone. He points at the girl trapeze artist, chuckling a bit, then points loosely at me. There’s an upward intonation in the non-English words that are coming out of his mouth and amidst my glaces from the phone to his black rimmed glasses, I begin to make out that he may think that woman is me.

This is now the second time on Muni I’ve been asked if I’m a C-Grade Celebrity outside the one-off comments of resembling Anna Kendrick (I’ll take it), Sarah Silverman (I’ll leave it), or Audrey Hepburn (marry me). I’m flattered, really, so I smile, ambiguously nod and proceed to side-glance for the duration of the bus ride to see if this man’s routine includes reality TV clips or if he really was trying to identify me. The earbuds are put away, his eyes close, and he naps.

In another transit stories, my co-workers and I headed to an off-site last week. Whisked away for whine, whimsy and other wh-whords, whe whomen (a stretch…) played a game called “Loaded Questions” the hour-trip there and back. One question, everyone submits an answer, the guesser must pair a response to its owner. This was harder than it seems. You think someone’s favorite dog breed is a Mutt but in fact it’s a Corgi. Being that I’ve been in a perpetual state of stink-eye lately in the workplace, I thought I could fly under the radar with some of responses. Sure enough, my colleague and friend who I work closest with got me every time. Responses were read, we’d share a chuckle and she’d slowly call me out on my witticism or slightly-off painted picture. Conversely, I could pretty much always guess her casual and warm responses that speak to her contented simplicity.

It was wildly refreshing to be seen well and to know well. With eyes down (or more like straight ahead at a dual screen), I wasn’t looking out. Friendships are one of the most beautiful things and especially at work, it’s easy to take these relationships for granted in the hustle and bustle of promotions, projects and office politics. But hop on a bus with girls you both know well and are developing new friendships with and you learn (or re-learn, rather) what it truly means to notice. Notice the people around you whom you spend 40+ hours a week with. Notice yourself and how you are professionally, personally and how you choose to blend the two. Notice how every situation in life is an opportunity to connect in some way that may help find a bit of truth, laughter of even mistaken celebrity identity.

Two bus rides were just the wake up call  I needed to clear the heads-down in a head-fog state I’ve made a habit of for a little while now. I haven’t quite been showing up and out into the world as I know I can and it’s funny how this stylish elderly man reminded me that even on days I don’t feel like a high-flying artist extraordinaire, I can be one.

What I’ve got here is raw, real and unfiltered me. I am slightly concerned that the words written here show a side that is analytical, wordy, tangent-susceptible, indecisive, waft-y and maybe downright silly. I’m worry that my thought process and perspective might not always reflect the semi put-together woman you’ve come to know. That behind these tousled curls is a mind that’s open and works in different directions. Behind this red-lipsticked mouth are honest words that are sometimes written before said. Behind this brooch-studded lapel is a heart feels deeply, is honest and has built up some armor that’s melted by the little things that matter to me in a big way.

This whole heart that melts thing – that’s where you come in. And maybe you know all this already and here I am, Blabby Gabby. Not new.

I wouldn’t be a blogger if I didn’t want people to read it. This is a bit of me unhinged but why is that so scary? I love that you want in, to be a part of another (and big) part of me. Being included and including you is very important to me. But what if inclusion comes with a cost? What if you don’t like what you read?

Ask me questions, ask me to tell you more, challenge what I put down. Laugh at me, laugh with me. I’m in.

We’ve all been there – en route to a super important place (coffee) and you whip out the super savvy iPhone 5S (just me?) and finish scrolling that IG feed, send a text containing low-key slang, some OMGEESS and a face palm emoji (still just me?). You’re swerving in your imaginary lane, maybe you even come to a complete stop and if you have your earbuds in, forget about hearing on-coming traffic or the shuffle of the financial district at your heels.

I get it. I have been that person. But lately, I have been leaving my phone in my pocket, on my desk, at home to be more in touch and aware of my surroundings. I don’t want to contribute to the madness that is the already disconnected shuffle around me. We look down at our phones to meet someone who could be right in front of us. We don’t notice we’re next in line, we miss what could be an opportunity to connect to a friend or stranger. We have made even the transition times, the times in between the doing, more doing.

So let’s give them a category, shall we? Hopefully with a full vocabulary to better identify these scroll-and-stroll types, we can have some compassion, gently give them the stink-eye and change the way we interact with the world by becoming more aware of our surroundings, each other and the way we move about our day and the world.

1. The Drunk. You know the walk – left, right, left, more left, right. This is harder to get around than a stroller at Disneyland.
2. Braking Bad. Walking, walking and then stop. Without warning. Without common sense.
3. Swol Sister. Girl (or guy) at the gym with her earbuds in. Not because she’s working out and bumpin’ (get it, guurrl!) but walking up the stairs (enter The Drunk or the Braking bad here) or even (yes – IRL situation) in line for the shower. THE WORST. I literally had to tap that sweaty shoulder to let her know the shower was free. That had better been The Weeknd she was listening to. Then we coo.
4. Stair (not)Master. Trying to get somewhere and lo and behold – blocked. By The Drunk or Braking Bad attempting to go up or down the stairs. Look, I get it, Swol Sister is swol and that spin class was like sooo hard but can the phone chill in the Lululemon pocket for a hot second while you complete the task at hand?!
5. Obvi Oblivious. Headphones on or head down or both, these people get so absorbed in their appy happenings that they don’t even realize someone is right behind them also trying to get through the door, maybe with coffee in hand or of the bag lady variety (guilty on both accounts).

It’s been one of those days – homegirl just needs to vent and try to restore some order in the crazy tech-centric streets of San Francisco. Look-up, dearies. There’s a whole lot of cool stuff to see and you’re missing out. You can always set a reminder on your phone to tell you to engage with world.

The topic of being either a maximizer or a satisficer has come up a lot recently. Or maybe it’s just I’m hyper aware of my maximizing tendencies, even in the face of a jukebox.

I’m dating a great guy. There, I said it. N and I create wagers based on new activities we enjoy together – billiards to start, then worked our way up to mini golf, bocce and pending tennis match (his win, I’m sure though I’ll probably rock a better skirt). Waiting for our turn at billiards and dodging the sways of a drunken couple convinced their new-found sport of pool was “better than sex” (their words, not ours), we spotted a jukebox. N found a couple tracks instantly that he wanted to play for the bar. His choices were super solid – something 90s R&Bish. (I mean, keeper, amiriiteee?!) What I noticed more than his song selection, though, was his ability to choose a couple songs, be completely content with them based on our dual consensus and be done. My first thought besides What on earth happened to Marcy Playground was What other songs are on that jukebox? And there I was, trying to maximize the sh*t out of a perfectly good jukebox.

This isn’t new for me. I’ve always been the type to wonder if what’s in front of me is the best thing out there. If I truly have nailed it. Is there another option, song, shoe, relationship that would be the best? Would it make me happier, increase the quality of life that much more? Is good enough settling? If that grass is greener, how do I get a piece o’ dat?! And so it goes, exhausting, often unnecessary, grueling and mentally draining.

Satisficers make decisions given the information at hand and go with it. They find something that feels right intuitively and use that gut feeling as enough of a reason to move forth confidently, then letting it go. Maximizers may feel that same gut instinct but feel the need to rationalize it on another level seeking another source of validation. Even after making a decision, that hunt for the “right” way may continue causing second guessing. Now, it’s not to say that there’s a time and a place for Maximizers. They are avid researchers, yelp reviewers and readers. They often make sound decisions based on a variety of well-developed thought and the choice is often a result of both good feels and fact.

So how can we blend the two to maximize create balance of thought and action? When does it serve to maximize and when is it best to go with the flow a bit more with the information at hand?

I’m still in search of an answer but from what I found is this – the worst decision is not making one. I think what maximizers are challenged with is mistaking quick decision making for impulsivity. Being impulsive is scary, uninformed, a loose cannon. But it isn’t. How many times do we feel the right decision right away only to make an exhausting trek to circle back to the same solution? Maybe we know more than we think we do but have trouble seeing it or acknowledging ourselves for actually instinctively knowing what truly is good for us.

I find I am much more of a satisficer when there is someone else in the equation – someone to stand next to at the jukebox or hover over yelp with. I bend and let go a bit more when I see the ease it brings to social situations, dinner plans and trip itineraries. I find a Maximizer’s value when it comes to Amazon purchases, finding a good cafe to post up in, Christmas gifts. I am what the internet would describe as a Casual Maximizer. So how do I incorporate more of that go with the flow into my day-to-day when it’s just me and my brain?

What I’ve been trying to pay more attention to is where my energy is going. If I feel drained, it’s already gone too far and it’s time to take immediate action. What I’m working on is to identify the tendency to go down a rabbit hole before I’ve got a toe in. I want to give myself the opportunity to make an active choice to either maximize the situation, research, deep-dive, read those reviews or just choose to make a decision and let it go. What does this situation call for? What is actually needed of me? How much of myself can I/do I want to give to this topic?

Awareness, friends. Become aware and you then have the power to keep things the way they are or do something differently. At the end of the day, a decision and its consequences are feedback. That’s it! Make a great decision, awesome. Try to do that again. Make a not so groovy one, choose differently next time. Without beating yourself up kthanks.