Candace Owens: Woman of the Year

I know the year just started but it’s a no brainer, duh. Here are all my reasons why….

“I’m too pregnant for this. Life is tough, get a helmut” That comment was awesome. It wasn't said for sympathy grabbing or “coddle-me-I’m-pregnant and I can't handle your darts”. No, she was above the question, not below it. She was portaying tough love towards a snowflake activist.

HER LOWKEY MOTHERHOOD

She rarely advertises it or uses it as a crutch. What an OG in my book. Ahh, keeping your private life private — what a concept in 2024. There are a lot of mothers in the talk media world who rarely put their families on display (for safety sake) but which ones have also risen to fame while perpetually pregnant like Candace? I’m trying to think of one mother in talk media right now who rose to highest hights of fame within the past 5 years — all while being pregnant and giving birth 3 times. I remember when Anna Kournikova lowkey announced the birth of her babies. No announcement of her pregnancy though because she kept it shrouded in privacy — most people including myself almost wondered if she hired a surrogate. I was still so impressed: another mother who did not advertise her mommyhood! Sharing and advertising are two different things and I’m always prompted to speak about such important nunaces in life as this.

I feel like mommyhood should be life changing and, if they have the modern tools to gush about it to the world (i.e. the far corners of the internet), why not? But how often do you see that spill over into clout chasing and brand making? Little do moms realize this but that is what I see most of them doing these days — and for the past 15 years since the advent of social media. I bet Candace and other private moms like her are having a terrific time in motherhood but they feel little need to display it, to virtue signal and promote ( how tempting) the feminism modern woman ideal “you can have it all.” They are not exhibitionists of their private lives, they are living out those parts of their lives behind the scenes.

Nonetheless, Candace has even been interviewed saying that, if she had to decide between one or the other, she would choose motherhood over her burgeoning career — her “4th child” as I like to call it — any day. So, we know she is thriving not just in her work but very much in motherhood, too. I say that that because I think it’s no secret in 2024 that we know so many moms (not all but alot ) who overshare their family lives on SM are trying to compensate for something or are feeling a deficent somewhere.

How tempting it would be to show her beautiful mocha babies to the public, right?! But she doesn’t do that — you can count on one hand the amount of times she has posted about her family. Some may be thinking, Is all ok in the Owens-Farmer paradise?! Yes, we just need to rebrand what is OK: it’s actually OK to keep your private life private instead of frontload your marriage and motherhood life for the world to see and comment on. Heck, her husband George doesn’t even have a social media. She must be enjoying her private life but I revel in the way she carries herself online for being such a loud persona: she rarely speaks of her kids or husband and, when she does, it is always with context to the situation or subject at hand. Apart from setting a positive example of getting married and exuberantly have 3 kids in 5 years, she does not want to draw people in to her own life. She is already getting lots of attention as a media sensation that she would not want to bring any more attention to her kids. That’s not her brand, that’s not how she makes money. Nonetheless, that HAS what so many mothers have turned their online presence into: a celebration and “branding” of motherhood.

These women don’t realize it but brands are exactly what they’ve turned their husband and, now, their babies into. A bunch of POV videos and “totally candid” captures of their family life. Every time I get onto FB I wish Zuck could pay someone already to do a mute button on all family and romance pics. And, to not become a hypocrite when I finally do get married and have kids, I have already assigned a friend as an accountability partner in my life to keep me in check: “please slap me if I ever start posting pics of my baby who had no rights to the photographs being put out into the ether,” I tell my friend. Because I can sense how temping it must be — especially when so many close friends and mothers around you are partaking in this oversharing. They think it’s like some innocent innocuous activity — yes and no — but the negatives moreso outweigh the cons. Need I mention all the perverts out there?? Do your research and you’ll know what I’m referring to.

There’s ya girl in red in a pond of testoserone. She didn’t use her pregnancy as crutch or excuse. Candace rolls with the big dogs as her equal like feminists love to promote — the only difference is Candace is a staunch anti-feminist (in what the modern definition of the term denotes which, if you peel back the layers, is NOT pro woman at all). Although proud of being a woman and her femininity, she does not platform those things like feminists do everyday in order to get ahead in the media talking head industry of big dog males of which she is surrounded by. She uses purely her intellect.

Now, on face value, I am SO used to seeing women documenting every bit of their preganacy journey on social media that I thought Candace’s approach towards each birth of her children was less than enthusiastic. One would think she would lay out more family pics on her personal IG page and what not but, oh no, she keeps them closed off like precious lockets pendants on her chest — only to be opened and shown to people in her private circle. That is the nuance of privacy, someone’s private life shrouded with intentionality to preserve its sacredness of such familial and mother journeys — not it’s secretiveness but sacredness. There is a difference. I strive to live like that when I have a husband and children. Whenever I try to practice holding back on posting about my private life online, I just pretend its 1995 when mothers and wives had no access to social media and people were just living their family lives and giving updates through snail mail and landline phone calls.

AN ELOQUENT ATTACK DOG

A modern example of a newlywed perpetually pregnant women — who surely could have capitalized off the feminist motherhood trope “look at me, I can DO IT ALL!”— and yet Candace doesn’t brag outwardly about it, nor does she use it to get sympathy if someone is attacking her that day (which many ppl do). What is her armor you ask? Well, it’s a form of narcisism for sure. Narcissism comes in a lot of different forms and all your favorite media talking heads, much like politicians, have had to adopt a form of it to combat the crud of online attacks they receive daily from dissenters. It’s almost a form of job security — if you don’t have it, you won’t survive out there. Not all forms of Narcissism are bad like we love to label its umbrella mother word “Narcissism”. There are offshoots of it that are net positive for individuals and society as a whole to further the growth and survival of the tribal leadership of humans.

Her quiet confidence helps her thrive playing with the big dogs in society. A lot of men’s sole genetic code is to fight to the top of their field and reproduce monetarily and intellectually because they don’t have a womb and can’t grow life — but Candace excels in both. In fact, she barely made it known sitting behind that desk at DW with the table covering much of her belly for each of her 9 month gestations. When the 8th month did roll around she would do a side announcement like, “Ok guys, so I will be going on maternity leave in a couple weeks to birth my baby!” as if she were going on a long Target errand. Her forthcoming voice makes her a tour de force in the media but, without her chill almost incognito energy of motherhood, you would never know she had a family — or husband. Unless she has a “work mask” that she takes off to disarm herself everytime she goes home, I don’t know how any man’s ego could handle the mere presence of such a formidable woman like Candace Owens.

HER MARRIAGE

George meeting Candace — I could do a whole blog post on that, alone. I am FASCINATED by this pairing — mostly the efficiency of George asking Candace her hand in marriage less than 15 days after their first meet. That’s not normal, nor is it wise for most people — but, hey, after 5 years of marriage G & C have pulled it off elegantly well. You do not need several months or years to know who you want to marry. In fact, I thought most stories like this were only reserved for army men who met and married their brides because of WAR — not so much love — compelled them to grow up fast, snatch a good women while they could before being shipped off. Ah, gone are are those days of yesteryear courtship, enter Arrested Development where people can’t even decide if they want to get married after a YEAR of dating. But no George had no War to get to, he simply saw a women he wanted and went for it — no bullsh** 1 to 2 year dating story here!

I always thought my dating story would unfold in that oldschool way because I am a huge believer and proponant of short courting periods. Could their be a scientific reason behind that? Yes. Here’s a little lesson for all the so-called “high value men” out there (that subjective term makes m cringe and needs to be retired): did you know women are dropping not just one egg per month but 1,000? Yes, we are losing 1,000 precious eggs per month when we have our periods. Now you get why something happening to us on a molecular level is translated to a macro level through our emotions in that we don’t want to waste time in the dating space. So it is no wonder that we get anxiety when we still don’t know what’s in the books after we are dating after a couple months. Women, wake up and don’t be fooled: actions DO speak louder than words. And if a man is still dragging his feet after a year of dating you then save your sanity — and your fertility — for a better prospect.

There’s like 5 photos of George and Candace on the internet and I kinda like it — I’m exaggerating numbers but it’s low compared to most public figures. How refreshing for once, like I said for a woman not to brand her marriage 5 seconds after saying her vows. Maybe wait 10 years of being married before you start espousing all that it takes to be a good wife. I know Candace makes quips about her marriage (letting people know just enough about having a healthy marriage is key) and she has had him on her show a couple times over the course of many years since they have known eachother, but I love the shroud of mystery and sacred guardrail they put around their marraige so as not to let other’s opinions seep in or trying to make others jealous. Because, I am kind of jealous inside: 3 babies in 5 years — mocha, too, they must be SO CUTE! Also, to think George knew you were the one after like 12 days of conversaiton and not having even kissed you!

Most women after the age of 30 can’t stand the dating BS and just want to get to married and have babies already. My friend has a really good word for it: auditioning. We are auditioning for the role of wife to a man and mother of his child. There are many cases of women auditioning to several guys within one calendar year, while some other women audition loyally to one man for years — in both cases, marriage, unfortunately, does not spring from it. How dispairing. So, when I heard about the way George locked it down with Candace I was like, encore to that scenario! In the midst of a world where men are handicapped by influx of choice (thc dating apps), objectification of women and inepetitude of red pill podcast bros turning them away from marriag, George Farmer knew what he wanted and Candace reciprocated the attraction right back. What a beautiful unicorn of coupledom story that I wish existed more today…

HER PARALLELS TO RIHANNA

Like Rihanna, Candace is Afro Caribbean and those girls have an X Factor atittude in the blood: they don’t give a fudge. You can see it in Rihanna with her musical collection and outside of her music the way she carries herself in the world though fashion and her biz ventures. THESE GIRLS BE HUSTLING. I remember when that song came out “Bitch Better Have My Money” trolling a former woman who used to work for her. Likewise, I love it when Candace trolls and exposes public personas for who they really are. Speaking her mind and tapping into the Pandora’s Box of taboo topics, I think Candace is the Rihanna of the conservative talk world. If Rihanna were a conservative pundit (is that a word?) she would be Candace who, as the world can see, nails modest fashion everytime.

COMBATING HO & WOKE CULTURE

P.S. to the genius photoshopper who works for GQ — you forgot to clean up a spot (there is a gap between the bottom of Cheeto bag and black jacket).

Candace has been boots on the ground these past 6 years trying to clean up Hoe & Woke country by going to college campuses and getting down in the debate trenches while fully pregnant and wading through the muck of several WHATEVER podcast appearances. Meanwhile Kim K makes the GQ Man of the Year cover. Make it make sense. Oh wait, if it did make sense in our crazy economy then GQ might be in the toilet by bowing to any semblance of descency and commonsense. Therefore KimK was the perfect pick for “man of the year’. And, we all know, in commonsense country, the accolade for Best Woman of the Year would be CandaceO… and, as she would say, that’s all I’m going to say about that.

Running with….Candace? That “What is our leader going to say?!” scene is my favorite in the movie Forrest Gump. Waiting with anticipation, this is a metaphor for me and the millions of others who watch Candace everyday. Save for the fact that Forrest says nothing profound or intellectual here, compared to what Candace says on a daily basis when she has the undivided attention of millions of supporters who are all eyes and ears waiting for her monolgue speeches. Running with renegade jogger Forrest throughout America is what its like to tune into Candace Owens every day….

PARADIGM SHIFT: HOW I NOW VIEW “GETTING OLDER”

There is a kind of messaging out there that youth goes away and old replaces her, like we’re almost seperate beings. I just turned 37 and so what if gravity has moved my face down a millimeter — I still have the same body, soul and mind. Make it make sense? On a daily basis, I have to remind myself of the illogical nature of this mass societal programming. It’s all I’ve ever known up until until I started thinking more critically about a more valid alternative way of thinking about age.

When we buy tangible things, little do we realize we have to first buy into intangible ideas . Everyday we buy into things mentally so that, subsequently, we can buy into something materially. So, it’s no wonder companies hire social engineers who tap into the human brain to see how they can both subconsciously and consciously program that person into buying their product. One of the biggest psychological feelings that companies capitilize on to get people to buy their products is: *drumroll* lack. We can feel lack in so many areas — aka FOMO — it’s like the yeast that makes the bread rise: companies can’t sell their products and services without you having that pesky little feeling of lack. And where do we feel the most lack? At an arbitrary place called “getting older”.

Enter the youthful economy of being an adult female: it lasts approximately ages 18–33 (my unscientific guess, but life experience had) and after that you are going down hill. But during that time the overlords of beauty standards and relationship norms groom us youthful soliders to feel a lack for when we do start heading over the hill…so that we will buy their products and services for the next +40 years of the average life span. What a brilliant longterm marketing strategy: you have a customer for about 75% of their life. Sound familiar? They push the BMW Life on us — Beauty, Mother, Wife — because that is what will bring us the most fulfillment. And I agree with some of that but this “herd mentality” (a legit form of human survival) ends up pushing homogeneity onto women — and the ones left out our feeling a heavy lack right now.

For instance, if you are not keeping up with the fillers and plastic surgery trends all around then you then you are made to feel FOMO. Which is why many women succumb to this Keeping up with the Joneses of Beauty and on and on the vicious cycle goes.

Same goes with finding your life partner. I’ve learned from reading Shani’s Silver’s brilliant writings that merit is not involved in that department: you can not will another human being. Yes, like the beauty industry, we’re talking about the other multi-billion dollar business of buying products/services on dating apps, books, relationship coaches, etc., to get a man to fall in love with you or control destiny to find him when you want on your time schedule. At 37, true love and connection (reciprocated, not one sided) STILL evades me for some reason. I’ve now learned fate is one fickle bitch, granting her good fortune on who she wants, when she wants.

I have yet to accomplish any of these noble milestones that society implicates I should have already and that makes me feel a sense of lack and disregard. To remind myself that this is just an illusion, I now pause to take inventory of my life the things I have accomplished in it: rich friendships and family ties, preserving my dignity and integrity in this crazy world, knowing my Creator, nurturing a healthy body, working on yachts every summer, hustling as an artist/fashion and children’s book entrepreneur and so so much more. I don’t want to look through the forest and miss the trees — all the beauitful things I’ve “planted” along the way to enrich this world.

But the programming of society has caught up with me and now I, Whitney Anderson have been a “victim” of falling out of youth (start buying our products!) and not having a family yet (distract your single life with our entertainment or buy our services on how to find love!). Do, do, DO. Know, know, KNOW. Our society does not do well with not taking action or accepting that some things in life are just a mystery.

That is especially true if you are a woman (men won’t hear this until their mid 40s): we get fed this idea that our youth is connected to Our Clock. Of course it is, but can we ease up on that being the sole indicator of a woman’s worth? Because I know more youthful, vibrant, naturally gorgeous-looking women in their 60s than at my age (they must have not let societal programming get to them).

I don’t know if you’ve noticed but a lot of this world sells extroversion — not introversion — but, naturally, most of us get more introverted as we get older. The intros become even more intro and the extras now feel the peaceful novelty of intro life — welcome to my club. I think part of that introversion is when you have your own family: you don’t have to go out and be extroverted to get your social on because you already have this special microcosm of that at home (i.e. spouse and offspring). Even if you don’t have kids, everyone knows that one couple who really keep to themselves just hibernating at home together or doing solo activities. So, if you are still single you can’t really relax if you have not “accomplished” those milestones. We have to stay social, not want to (at least in my case and a lot of my friends who I talk to). Thus, a lot of us have adopted this kind of fake extroversion to appease an ideology that made us so frantic (and also distract us from our lack). They sell “Be married by this age!” “Have children by this age!” “Stop having children by this age!” “Travel the word and start a business before you settle down” “Don’t settle in your 20s!” “Settle before 30 or slim pickings!”….Do you ever feel like culture talks out of both sides of its mouth? Enough with his paragraph, I’m exhausted.

I wish society all had “In Time” beauty (see pics, below), found their soulmates, all got married between the ages of 20–30 and had children at the same time, too — now wouldn’t that be nice! More homogeny, less jealously, less lack. It would be almost utopia. But we know utopia doesn’t exist and that’s what makes this world so dynamic: people looking different and doing different things at different times in their lives outside of the normative timetable. I sure have been That Story and I will continue to be without the lack (thank you very much cosmetic and love industries).

There is no reason to feel down about “getting older” — I worked hard for my good name, the unique essence I bestow on this earth. My identity is independent from my 2 digit age, in my changing looks, and even my marital or parental statuses in this life. It’s in my good name, dammit. I’ll always be Whitney L Anderson past, present and future and no one one can put a value on that.

This scene in the movie In Time always gets me: it’s a grandmother, mother and daughter. It posits an ageless economy — reflective of our own reality. One must buy time after the age of 25— or you die. The only difference in real life is that we just keep aging, so aging is a metaphor for death in the movie and sadly a lot of people buy that idea in real life, too

DENZEL WASHINGTON: 50 Hours in the Making

DENZEL WASHINGTON // 46x54” // 100% hand-cutout collage created from recycled magazines ✂️

“We leave for camp to Gettysburg College, August 15th, 7:29 am. If you show up at 7:30, you will not be playing football this season, you will be watching. You will wear a jacket and tie. If you don't have one, buy one. Can't afford one, borrow one from your old man. Don't have an old man, find a drunk, and trade for his. Cause I guarantee you, there ain't a bum on the street that looks as raggedy and ridiculous as what I'm looking at. This is no democracy. It is a dictatorship. I am the law. If you survive camp, you will be on the team. If... you survive.”

“Remember the Titans” was one of my first Denzel movie memories, especially that epic sit-down-shut up speech. It’s actually the perfect family movie to watch right now: thematic to this month and the prevalence of racial segregation coming to a crossroads in the 60s. Teaching invaluable lessons to people to this day, this cinematic gem underscores pragmatism over feelings, perseverance, tough love and a remarkable bond of brotherhood unprecedented up until that period in history.

•It’s hard to name my top favorite actor and actress but if I had to choose they would be Denzel Washington and Cate Blanchett. Denzel is one of those ppl who stares at you like you are the only one in the world—that’s what makes him such an exceptional actor. Like most of my portraits, he’ll be a one and done (especially if they are really difficult faces).

•What makes a face difficult for me is when they have a resemblance to others. For instance, it was hard not to make him look like OJ or Obama—I just want this to look like Denzel, not these other dudes even though he has this uncanny likeness to them. He has the most unique stare of confused, puppy dog eyes, mad, focused, sad—all rolled into one. I had to nail all these emotions in his eye, questioning myself along the way: is he furrowing or relaxing them? Is he just staring into the camera or is he staring into the camera man’s soul? That’s up to the viewer. Now, onto the next…..

Passive love: the mediocrity of our times

Why put the ball in his court if he ain’t gonna catch it

**DISCLAIMER** Although a lot of blogs out there highlight a bullet-point resolution to issues about the subject at hand — frankly, this one doesn’t. This is moreso a commiseration blog that I hope will resonate with others in the same boat. If that “helps” somebody in some way, well, splendid. Sometimes the help you offer is not in the form of advice but open thoughts of someone’s personal journey, like painting thoughts on paper. Enter mine….

In 2007 there was an unprecendented drop in the birthrate in the USA and it took years for people to figure out why. Fastforward to 2023 and the birth rate has fallen even more. Climate change, Instagram, shallow texting taking the place of intimate phone calls, red pill YouTube communities, cat videos, 24/7 entertainment, dating apps, onlyfans, free p***, and fear mongering, all in….the palm…of your…..hand. Yes, the iPhone made its debut in 2007 and ever since it has been our biggest tool — and nusance at the same time.

Since we now have the world at our finger tips, enter the Attention & Distraction Economies. Yes, financial institutions built off the backs of your distraction. How clever. How insidious. So, what does this have to do with passive love? Every little nitty gritty thing that people are not pulling back enough layers in the dating realm to truly examine (mostly because dating app businesses and relationship gurus are making such a profit keeping singles single — but that’s for another blog). I believe the commodification of distractions has had a ripple effect on creating solid romantic connections.

That is why, when I lost my phone while I was visiting Denmark last April, I was only faintly dismayed that I lost something that, much like so many other millennials, I had made my world. On the contrary I felt liberation and peace come over me as I thought, “Yes, this is my chance to go back to to the 90’s, I’ve always wanted to survive off a burner phone!” I still don’t use Alexa or Siri, nor do I have bluetooth ear pods, I’m basically the last one to get inline with a new technology and I’m always the last on the plane (seriously, why are you all standing in line right when they call boarding??). Cal Newport highlights this in his book “Digital Minimilism” which I recommend everybody read.

Whenever I talk to my Grandma about the state of affairs, she often recalls this one Bible verse, the most chilling and sobering three words to explain the pitfalls of modernity: “Knowledge will bring sorrow.” Ain’t that the truth, Grandma. We exist in a vacuum of distractions not giving us the chance to reflect and focus on the meaningful parts of life in the prehistoric days leading up to that 2007 invention. I’ve always been suspect of this gadget that fulfilled — outside of eating, sleeping and exercise — all we ever wanted and needed. Too much knowledge scares me. From nonchalantly tapping my index finger on a button, reading my fingerprint to unlock my computer to the the fact that I can buy something off Amazon and have it at my doorstep in the time it takes to order Chinese food (and practically free of shipping )— these modern marvels of convenience alarm me.

Every girl has heard the phrase “A man will move mountains for the woman he is in love with.” It’s more like mounds these days — but mountains, no way. Buckle up Buttercup, you might have to drive to find Wesley in 2023 because I don’t know, he might be distracted by other things and you don’t want to inconvenience him. There are just too many shiny objects today by which even the otherwise quintessential good man gets enraptured. Enter the lopsided energies developed over time between the genders: I see a ton of meek men and alot of aggressive women, both brewing in the Passive Love culture we see right now.

Call me crazy but I’ve always been a fan of undivided attention from the person I’m dating — from the get go. First date. Yep, I’m loyal from the beginning so I expect my guy to be as well — loyal to getting to know just eachother. “But you get burned because you feel too much too soon, Whit.” Sorry I can’t help my limerance spirit — a run-off from my artist brain? Perhaps. I’m not going to apologize because According to science, lims and non lims need eachother! I just can’t help that I rather be all about someone early on if I’m going to eventually be spending 24/7 with him and have babies and sleep in the same bed everynight — ya damn right I project into the future. It’s how I’m wired and I can’t shake that. I used to shame myself hard for this “weakness” in my life but now I’ve turned the card table over: the problem is not me and my feelings, it’s most of my generation’s half-ass intentions on love.

This is a scene from the movie Secondhand Lions when the wise old WWI vet (played by Robert Duvall) knocks some sense into the younger guy and I just LOVE how it encapsulates true masculinity. I hope it awakens every man in America right now. Live with purpose, passion, and learn to love ONE woman:

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“ANY MAN WHO AWAKENS A WOMAN”S LOVE WITHOUT ANY INTENTION OF LOVING HER IS A COWARD.” -BOB MARLEY

Just because women (and men) like me feel deeply and wear our hearts on our sleeves does not mean we are desperate — it means we are confident and using our sacred vulnerability on someone that is welcoming us to do so. We are black and white — we get anxious in the grey. So, when love derails, we are left destitute in the dark alley way of emotions and wasted empathy.

We are not psychopathic/narcisstic like those around us giving humanity a bad name right now — but perhaps we could borrow some of those traits? It sure would take the singe off the pain of a loss. Or maybe it’s the projectedpain of loss, feeling so right about a future with them that turned us down in the end. Heck, either way it’s real human empathy wasted on someone — now we have to go about life being more discerning about who we give empathy to. Hence, life does not feel as organic and that saddens me. This read is mostly for women (although some men will glean similar sentiments) who expended their good love on someone who only gave them mediocre in return. The roots of passive love run deep…

THE PRIMARY CHARACTERISTIC OF PASSIVE LOVE

No one really talks about this but I believe the worst form of unrequited love is not the black n’ white kind in which you really liked someone and they showed you no interest back. Oh no, it’s the THAT GREY. The mess-with-you’re-head kind. Let’s call it a state of purgatory — like this could lead to heaven or hell. And you’ll take that gamble because, even though they are giving you breadcrumbs, it could mean something deeper. It’s the inner dialogue you’ve heard before “oh we’ll just be friends and play it safe, even though deep down inside I know I will resent him later for wasting my precious time and energy on where I thought we were going with eachother.” It’s our hope and idealist mindset kicking in — for which has served us in the past when we used it for different situations in life and we think it will do the same here. It’s the “Maybe they are just shy, insert all other excuses here_____.” Passive Love has plagued a nation and its intentional well-meaning individuals who have been on its receiving end.

“NO ONE CAN TAKE YOUR SPARKLE”

That was said 8 years ago to by a friend trying to comfort me about a guy who let me down — that “bait n’ switch” let down. He reeled me and let me go. Enter the Passive Love I would experience on and off in subsequent years. It’s so immature and sophmoric. I often thought, surely when I get to my 30s and start dating men in their 30s and 40s they will be intentional and not lead me on! I’m laughing now. I have always been a black n’ white person — due to my limerant psychology (or you could call it a pathology because of how crippling it is to feel such intense feelings for my LO), so I have either had the ick or the awe for someone — rarely has there been a grey area. That has saved me a lot of decision making but it had also led to a lot of grieving because I was either not enough or I was too much for a man. I have tinkered with the idea of belittling myself — not fulfilling my lofty dreams — in order not to intimidate a male prospect. On the other hand, the grief I have had felt in the romance department has interestingly been fuel to empower me to keep my hopes up. I’ve come so far. So many people have come so far: one must never give up on the noble desires in life.

MY ART AND POETRY: A CATHARTIC JOURNEY THROUGH THE BULLSHIT OF FAILED ROMANCE

A couple of years ago I was experiencing an unrequited love situation and, turning to art as my therapy, I drew a rudimentary illustration in “Precious Moments” style to demonstrate the universal meaning of the phrase. But it doesn’t reveal the Passive love of emotionally-constipated adults, the most insideous. Because, here’s the nuance: they do want your attention and they give you theirs, you are the object of that person’s affections — BUT, nothing past that point. It’s like the passive lovers are expressing this long run-on sentence: “I want just enough of you for an ego boost but I got hangups in my life and they have nothing to do with you but in the end you will feel gaslit by my actions, you’ll feel like there was something wrong with you because of the way I reeled you in and then pulled the rug out from underneath you.”

MY POEM

I wrote a poem years ago to show this vulnerable energy and the reluctance I have to open up with men in general. Historically, when I’ve been in love I feel so euphoric that its crippling (again, limerence), a lot of beauty has come from it, but so has a lot of pain. This poem is about that girl getting her feet wet way before the boy’s and there is an undertone of anxiety you can sense from her, that which so many have felt going into a grey Passive Love Zone with somebody:

If

by Whitney L. Anderson

>>>> — — — — — -♡ — — — — — — →

If I let you have me would I be your sunshine or just your moonlight. Would you use me as a night light — be your goodmorning and then goodbye? Would you only talk to me when you’re lonely when you’re not hangin with your boys or would you give it a whirl and would I be your girl?

If I let you have me would I be a scented candle burning so bright or would you hush my fire whenever you like and light another because you love a new flame’s sight?

If I let you have me would I be the entree of your life or would you eat me up like a candy and get nothing but a one night high, throw away your wrapper and sigh — where’s my next bite? Would I not be the gift that keeps on giving or am i your Toys R Us toy here today for your child’s play, gone tomorrow when you’re ready for your next big boy action hero?

If I let you have my heart would you be cliche and rip it apart over some stupid mistake? Would you burry the wound deeper by saying “I never meant to hurt you in that way”?

If I answered your calls on time when they came would you answer mine on the first chime? Take advantage of the whole heart I’ve been giving you and never bother to think about what it took you to ask me out on our first date?

If I told you my darkest secrets would you see them as my weaknesses that you can overpower me when my soul bleeds from guilt or my strength in that I want to move on with my life and you’re the only one I want to hold my chin up when I fight through my darkest nights.

If I let you be mine would you be concrete or sand? Let me sink into your life, know the depths of your soul, the things that make you happy, cry, half or whole. If you were just a block of concrete my hands would bleed in vain as I would try try to beat down your cement walls everyday

If we went out would u look around at the other girls and wonder how you could do better or would you realize how good you already had it?

If I were a song in your life would you make me your chorus or just throw me in one line?

If you just said you loved me would there even be another if?

HOW MEN GOT PASSIVE (don’t hurt me y’all, I’m just the messenger)

In my blog “How Feminism Created the Never-Ending Dating Generation,” I talk about this phenomenon that started almost 100 years ago when dating came onto the forefront: the rise of “charity girls” started putting prostitutes out of business in the early 1900s New York. Today, Charity Girls run rampant, they encompass the average female dater who gives up her body before the ring. If you can hold out longer you’ll be better for it, but still, the man got his candy and can still run: there is no commitment holding him accountable to stay. Outside of working in porn, OnlyFans and strip clubs, any time a woman engages in fornication she is emphatically a glorified prostitute on the DL.

The jig is up — and it’s about time our mothers tell you the truth. Hers (the baby boomers in this case) made it an open secret and no longer taboo, due to sexual mores changing in the 1960s, thus, it was the cool rebellious thing to do back then — but not anymore. Eventhough she secretely knows it’s wrong, she can only chastize you so much, right? That would be judgemental and hypocritical of her unless she divulged her past to you. But she’s not going to do that. Most mothers will not do that because they want to look like the literal white bride they were on their wedding day. Leading us on in this way sure did not serve the next generation.

SEX IS THE EASIEST THING IN THE WORLD (but its only the safest for your mind, body and spirit in ONE context)

Oh you have a sex drive? Me, too! Gosh, can’t believe the sophomoric attitude we have on getting our rocks off before marriage. For those who have been practicing abstinence for years until marriage (or intermittently if you’ve slipped), damn I know the struggle. I’m not called to celibacy that’s for sure — heck, I’ve cried because the urge is so strong. But I always remind myself that I didn’t come this far to come this far in terms of preserving that side of my dignity. I’ve had to practice temperance — often begrudgingly — because I know this verse that has stuck with me for years: “Well done good and faithful servant.” I am stubbornly secure with my ways despite what the bait the world is dangling right in front of me. And it’s not just available sex, it’s the cavalier attitude you have as a prerequisite to doing it. My attitude is that I’ve only ever wanted my husband, that’s it — not the slew of guys I could have had while waiting for him.

I’ve cried many times over the FOMO that overtakes me though, that proverbial devil that represents the mainstream views of said horizontal culture whispering to my psyche, “You are in your prime, wasting your good body, you are missing out, Whitney!” This “whisper” has manifested through movies, music and the household name of birth control (which was not even given outside of married couple until the 60s) to give us carte blanche to premarital sex. It’s a cruel trick. I’ve started to tell people “your know, sex is the easiest thing in the world.” It’s too easy. Pretty easy for such life-changing events such as getting pregnant when you’re not married, STD’s, too easy to get a soul tie, too easy to start comparing the next guy to the last guy until you meet the person you want to marry and then you have a trail of soul ties. Those who are ahead of the curve collectively start asking themselves, “How could the easiest lowest common denominator cause so much pain?” If your conscious is tugging at you because of the state of affairs, you’re not wrong. That’s why self control is paramount today. So, be empowered by what I have told myself and others: you have no obligation to sleep with your boyfriend. Absolutely NO OBLIGATION. If you want to feel the true form of empowerment and not the feminist kind, listen to your grandmother who waited…..

ONLINE DATING

There is nothing good for me to say here (cue the scores of Google pages with SCORES of articles denouncing this subject). Nothing new I would say about it here. For the people who are boycotting it by no longer participating, keep going, team.

HOW TO RECOGNIZE HOW I PARTICIPATE IN THIS CLOWN WORLD AND WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT (DIY SAFE SPACE)

The safest space is your own. The facts are that we have agency and we consent to almost everything we do or allow have done to us. That is the most empowering yet annoying/bothersome statement, because that means I take responsibility for things I didn’t even realize before! However, since we mere mortals don’t have crystal balls, we can only bear so much of that burden; this is something I’ve heard psychologists dub “it’s not your fault but it is your responsibility.” (Perplexing phrase, I know).

So, it’s no wonder, as I reflect back that I was consenting to my own detriment. Life is about risks though and the risk of the could-be is a better hormone concoction than the risk of not taking it and letting our love hormones remain stagnant. Here was my inner talk at the time: “This is the way men are today, passive and shy. I need to be the strong one and make things happen.” He’s giving 40% from the beginning, what’s me crossing over another other 10% to meet him where he is at? He’s wounded, I’m the strong one, I’ll make him stronger to actually love me. I’ve heard the stories from women in which they were aggressive and got their man. I don’t want to be manipulative, but perhaps I should play so coy — I need to be direct or a man won’t come after me. We live in a meek society right now…” and on and on the rationalizing goes. Note to self: don’t consent to half-ass love from the get go.

THE AGRESSIVE “PICK ME’S” CULTURE

I have long said to my friends that the plethora of good-looking have-it-going-on women with a personality do not match the plethora of men that have the same. Thus, relatively speaking, there are more eligible bachelorettes in this country than eligible bachelors. That is why women have had to become more aggressive about finding someone as their match. That, or lower your standards and sell out from who you innately feel comfortable being with — i.e. the book “Marry Him: The case for settling for Mr. Good Enough” by Lori Gottleib (the most abysmal title ever, right?). Should women like me who are strongly traditional participate? “You need to be more assertive, Whitney!” Says the woman who nabbed her husband by reaching out first (i.e. Simone Biles style, the text book definition of this). Something has never sat well with me about that. Let’s call it manipulative.

Even as this is the case where society is headed, it still dumbfounds me to think that a woman do the pursuing. I don’t know about that kind of woman, but it goes against my demure feminine nature. Not only that, I don’t want to be the leader in my relationship — yes, guidance behind the scenes — but I have to take the lead in every other aspect of my life as a single woman. The last thing I want in a man is that passive love. Breadcrumbing. Dangling the carrot of a life together — “future faking”, they call it these days? I’ll only give it so much attention until I can no longer for the sake of maintaining my dignity and knowing I deserve a man’s undivided attention as I am giving him mine.

 THE ENIGMA OF LOVE RESTS IN THE NUANCE OF INTEREST

I cant’ reprimand a grown man for doing a bait and switch that I consented to. Still, I have days where my blood boils thinking that I let my heart be exposed and saying vulnerable things to show my affection; I was inevitably making more out of the breadcrumbs being presented to me. Awe those sweet breadcrumbs…that’s what makes up what I call the worst kind of player: the one who doesn’t seem like one at all. The covert F boy. If you are GenZ, just listen to Stevie Nicks “Players only love you when they’re playing” and you’ll get my picture. So, ruminating on my past situation, I come to the problem that’s answer is even more elusive: how do I know the difference between a passive indifferent guy who just wants an ego stroke to that of a guy who is nervous and wants me but is trying to “play it cool” and not front load his emotions? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop — the world may never know….

KEEPING GOOD NEWS PRIVATE and OFFLINE IS NOT BEING INDIFFERENT, IT’S HONORING THE SACREDNESS OF IT.

Ask me how I’m doing — or any of my amazing girl friends in their mid 30s— and you’ll find the dull pain of not having been married off by now. Maybe its because we are so inundated with posts of the engagement, the Big Day, the first child, the 5yr wedding anniversary and on it goes, but I know it’s the algorithm. It’s social media feed’s fault and not my friend’s trying to shove their big news down my throat every time I get online. I’ve found there is a fine line between feeling inspired by someone and feeling envious of them — oh the fine line! I’m happy for them, their feets are inspirational but it leaves me feeling empty. No matter all that I have accomplished in this world, no matter that I have held onto my dignity more than most woman my age, no matter that I have lived an authentic healthy life — my man still evades me.

This makes me almost want to mirror my bad fortune of being single for this long—as in, I want to evade society when I eventually do get married and have babies. I don’t want a wedding. I want to elope and I won’t be sharing my children on social media. The sacredness of such things — albeit celebratory — has been subverted into something more commercial. I almost look at weddings as tacky. Maybe I’m scrooging here but hang with me: you become a passive commodity, a brand with everything you promote on social media. Innocent sharing spills over into the slot machine of likes, in essence my marriage, my ring, my kids, how I threw their birthday party — they all convert into this weird digital clout for others to chase and admire. That’s the double-edge sword of aspirational: we need people to show off their families and their rings and their “I love you, boo” as it reminds us that the nulear family is going strong but a lot of it is for clout and it even gives off the wrong impression of what is going on in the background of those cheerful photos. You become a new brand of person once you get married and you are trying to capitalize off of that through cultural acceptance, I get it. For me, however, I don’t plan on sharing that much.

“HOW CAN I EASE THE PAIN….WHEN I KNOW YOU’RE COMING BACK AGAIN”

Those were the famous lyrics of an unknown siren of a voice, Miss Lisa Fisher from her song “How can I ease the pain” 1991. You know those songs where you distinctly remember where you were when they first laid eyes on your ears? Yes, Lisa Fisher’s was one such song. It was a pretty mundane moment in time but I recall it so vividly because that day marked the new soundtrack to my soul. It also encapsulated my past and all of the melancholic experiences I have had with dating and the handful of relationships that barely got off the ground over the years. As its chorus presents, it’s the proverbial tale: a man in a woman’s life (could be several in her lifetime) that comes back and cuts open the scar of closure she worked so hard to heal on her own because he never gave it to her straight. Think of Leona Lewis’ “Bleeding Love” as a contemporary rendition of this. I don’t think you would ever hear a man singing ballads like these because women don’t usually weasel their way back into a man’s life — it’s more to be the other way around. “Yo yo love” is a form a passive love and I can sense our Lisa has BEEN on the receiving end of such confusion, a vapid soul tie…..

CLOSING THOUGHTS

This is what I would tell the last man in my life who broke me: I’m black and white. You’ve messed with the wrong girl if you think you just want a friendship out of my pain. There is no friend, nor is there ship — because that has sailed (just read my other blog tackling the already pesky nature of the male-female platonic friendships) For how long, I don’t know, but I couldn’t bare the pain of ever coming back to your dock. All this to say: you could have just admired me from afar. I’m sure, if you are a reader who’s gotten this far, would share my same sentiments…… 

SPECIAL PROJECTS // January 2024

FOLDED LIPS / MUSE: CINDY CRAWFORD / 6x4’/ $11K

Check out my Instagram video! —> https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2tb27hOSWu/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

You are looking at over 1,000 overlapping folded canvas cuts glued on a thick canvas! I was midway through this piece and yearning to get it done as I asked myself, “WHY did you start this insane project again, Whitney?”.lol Great question. Just experimenting, really….and I am so proud to have finished it! Probably my one and only piece like this I will have in my portfolio! So, if you want a “one off” one-of a kind #whitneylanderson style artwork, THIS would be the one to jump on! What makes this piece so unique is how I tease the concept of 2D and 3D by bringing them together on canvas! 🙌🏽 This quasi 2D/3D piece is inspired by chunky fabric folds hand painted using my acrylic and oils and meticulously placed to create sumptuous lips with a dual effect of abstract realism. It is also inspired by my Pixilated Style collection which you can view on my website under “Paintings.” // Specs: “Folded Lips” painted and sculpted cut canvas squares glued on canvas, 72x48” $11,000 // DM me for buying inquiries or to make an offer 🟥🟧🟨⬜️🟫

BLONDES HAVE MORE FUN / MUSE: JESSICA HART / 6X6’ / $12K

“BLONDES HAVE MORE FUN (Part 2)” 6x6’ painting on cut fabric squares //// I walked into @denverdesigndistrict last month and they bestowed on me 4 boxes of recycled fabric samples that I thought I would experiment with! It’s part of my pixilated collection but my limited color palette (and tattered edges of fabric) offset the clean realism I was going for as it turned into a more gruff abstract portrait—it’s a dual effect and that’s kinda cool! This project was taxing but exciting (especially when I finally finished it lol). Interested in buying this one-off over-size piece? DM me!💎 #whitneylanderson #jessicahart#denverdesign #denverdesigndistrict

ABOUT ME

It was 6:32 am on February 22, 1987, when the world was woken up to the loss of Andy Warhol at his New York City estate. The renegade pop artist who once quipped “Art is anything you can get away with” surely reflected that sentiment in the Campell’s soup cans, the magnum opus that cemented his place in pop art history. Would there be another to replace him — somebody who mastered the craft of pop art in their own way? If so, I think it would be years in the making. I’m sure no one was even asking that question at the time though. I know my mom wasn’t thinking that when she went into labor on the same day 3,000 miles away in Alaska, far from the cosmopolitan hotbed of art where Andy flourished.

I was born that very same day around 8 pm under a starry arctic night in Anchorage. My mom named me Whitney, with Laurel being my middle name, and Anderson my last — bearing the legacy of my dad, a 3rd generation commercial salmon boat captain. Busy with their new daughter and my two other siblings, my parents were the last people to know Andy Warhol died that day — until I told them 24 years later when I myself discovered the peculiarity of such “antithesis connections” (if that sounds weird, bear with me) between Andy Warhol and me. I was 24 and had just moved to NYC in search of art opportunities when I visited the Guggenheim one day. They had an Andy exhibit going and that is when I learned about the many polarities/antitheses between us:

He died on the morning of 2/22/87; I was born the night of 2/22/87

Our initials are swapped: mine are WA, his are AW.

-He was a man, I am a woman

-He was blond, I am brunette

-We were born on opposite ends of the country

-Interestingly, we are both pop artists but miles apart in approach. For instance, I rail against his infamous quote “Art is anything you can get away with” and you can see it in my work. I’m not trying to get away with something — as a purist, I have to consistently remind people that there areno shortcuts to my work, no projections or digital manipulations going on. The amount of labor and originality I put into my pieces pales in comparison to an Andy Warhol SCREENPRINT— and I’m not bragging, I’m stating a fact. Andy was rubbing it in our faces that he was getting away with low-grade art disguised as a sophisticated laborious art form. The only reason he is famous is because A: his renegade spirit and style was a slap in the face against normative art practices at the time which, by default, made him standout, and B) his vital social connections helped prop him up. Art has little to do with merit and Andy started that trend, just like how the Kardashians capitalized off being famous for being fa[ke]mous.

Anyways, with all these opposite connections, I got to thinking: was I Andy’s anti protégé? Am I the new female Andy Warhol pop cultural artist on the rise — the new renegade against him? While building up my own art enterprise the past 12 years, I love entertaining such a lofty idea. Plus, having started drawing when I was 5, I already surpassed the 10,000 mark of mastery by my early 30s.

18x24" hand-colored pencil/ 2018 / from my drawing archives

Crisco lard, Aftershave, Heinz Ketchup, Dairygold — oh, did you see those Warhol Argo corn starch portraits sell for 5 million last week at Christie’s? Neither did I — because the collection doesn’t exist! But you have heard of Campell’s Soup — sold for millions. Seriously, when you think about it, Andy could have picked any household item out of the 1960s and it would have stuck. Just imagine: the high art world would be gaga with interpretations behind cornstarch boxes or containers of lard right now instead of this canned soup. But it was Campbell’s that ended up being the chosen one to cement his legacy — the first to blatantly mimic low art, the post-industrial life of consumer culture. No one could imagine plucking a commercial brand from the shelf that was worth .75 cents and unabashedly misappropriating it as million-dollar art. Andy was a genius without the brains and I find that one part annoying and the other part endearing.

Speaking on Andy’s penchant for Campbell’s parallels what I’ve been creating for years, my own product “muse”: Swedish Fish. It all started when I was 19 — just a low-key intrigue over these cute little candies. Perhaps it was their ubiquitous nature that so many can relate to and appreciate them — but I learned over time why it captured me on a more innate level. Just the two words Swedish and fish embody my family’s legacy of Scandinavian seafarers: my great-great grandfather sailed from Åland (an archipelago between Sweden and Finland) to Chignik, Alaska in the late 1880s. He helped settle the fishing village it would become, the spawning grounds to the most prized sockey salmon run in the world. So naturally, having grown up as a fisherman’s daughter and professional artist, I can distinguish the five salmon species markings like Miranda Priestly can cerulean blue over lapis blue. I don’t know what compelled Warhol to create his Campbell’s Soup but I feel good to know my Swedish Fish paintings have a rich story behind them. If I’m ever known in the art world like him, I think that art collection will be one of my claims to fame.

Following the Warhol connection, I discovered other peculiarities about myself through the names that created my identity. Whitney means “white island” (one of my favorite things in the world is a blank white canvas and having no one around me— I create best in the quiet). Laurel is the victory wreath (I was a high-performing athlete most of my life). My mother named me after Mount Whitney, the highest mountain in the contiguous United States. I attended Kings Elementary School in Edmonds, WA. I later attended Summit High School in Frisco, CO. As the 3rd fastest girl in the nation at 5000 meters, I received a full-ride athletic scholarship to Duke University (Mind you, I did not go there because I was a Cameron Crazy — heck, when I got there JJ Redick walked by me and I didn’t even realize who he was). So, all of these regal names —Kings, Summit, Duke, and then being born at “Providence” hospital — feels like my life story is beyond just coincidence. What’s crazy is nobody else is a fine artist in my family on both sides of my mom and dad. Blood relatives, first cousins, and aunts and uncles — nada. The only person who was a legit artist was my great-grandmother Elma — amassing only a small stash due to taking care of family during the Great Depression and WWII years. In the midst of going through trials and tribulations, all these peculiarities are a reminder to me that God did place me here on earth as an artist to serve a special purpose.

Outside of my venturous journey, I’m very traditional inside. Sometimes I wish I was a wife and mother already or a Basic Becky who had a more relaxed upbringing and grew up on the same coldesac in a Leave It to Beaver Family. Being a Professional Artist/DukeAthlete/LegacyFisherman’sDaughter seems pretty glamorous, I know. But heck, I’ve wished so often to be in other’s shoes than my own — ironically a great motivator that a lot of high-acheivers adopt to keep them rising to the top.

Modern society glamorizes the struggle of any individual who has succeeded in their particular skill set or who comes from a rough blue-collar background like mine in the midst of this nerdy Digital Era. We all know rappers who make a living off their vocal game and the nostalgic lyrics from their gritty past. They never forgot where they came from and what made them. Same here. Upon reflection, I find my own achievements to be driven by contrasting emotions: some self loathing in one area of my brain mixed with a high sense of self worth in another. To an extent, the presence of lackis fuel to a hungry heart. But I’ve learned something over time: there is cost/benefit to every life story and thinking the grass is greener on the other side is a waste of precious energy. Stick to your pasture, your lane. Nonetheless, thank you for being here and witnessing mine, blog post after blog post— gleaning wisdom where you can. I hope I inspire you to reflect on what makes you YOU. Now, for all the ones who have mastered their skill and other people think they want in, I leave you with my favorite little mic-drop:

There once was a master pianist playing brilliantly on the keys with spectators all around watching him. One came up to him and remarked “Wow, I would give aaaanything to play like that!” The piano man suddenly stopped, turned around and asked, “WOULD YOU?” . . . . . . . .

BUY MY ORIGINAL ART FOR UNDER $500!

BLAST FROM THE PAST! Can you believe I did this cheetah almost 20 years ago?! I just listed up 11 ORIGINALS on my Etsy shop from my teenage years—coming of age to the artist you see today! So, these are very special to me and I hope you find something one that favors your style! These are all under $500 so nab these old school #Whitneylanderson originals while you can! 🤲🏽🎀💎 Press the black box, below, to shop!!

"YOU'RE NOT MY KIND OF GIRL"

Gosh, I hate to love this song — or is it love to hate this song? It’s unrequited love at its finest: the crescendo of all that defines the B-roll of your dating life that’s left on the cutting floor. And everybody has that B-roll they don’t want to talk about — even famous, have-it-goin-on folks. It’s not that you are unpretty or charming or wife material — it’s that you are ALL of those things and they still don’t want you. You’re not their kind of girl. You’re their girl on paper but not in person. *sigh* Frustrated, yet? Well, grab a stress ball or your favorite sob calories (pint of ice cream), because here come the lyrics:

Oh, girl, I know that you’re attracted to me
And I should feel the same about you
But there’s something wrong
I don’t know what it is
That keeps us from becoming a two
It’s not your looks (You’re very pretty)
It’s not your style (The way you dress is oh so fresh)
It’s not the way that you carry yourself
Oh, girl, I’m (sorry)
You’re not my (kind of girl)
’Cause you’re the kind of girl that a man’s dreams are made of
Oh, girl, I’m (sorry)
You’re not my (kind of girl)
’Cause you’re the kind of girl that a man would be proud to call his own

“You’re Not My Kind of Girl” // NEW EDITION // 1988

I learned there are three groups of people when it comes to dating: those that both fall in love on equally romantic planes, those that both are not that attracted to each other (so no hard feelings), and the third (which is the worst group to be in) is the unrequited love group in which one individual is pining for the adoration of the other emotionally untethered individual. I’ve found myself in that last category quite often. I’ve learned that I am a natural at subordinating myself to a man, due to my limerant spirit which I wrote a whole blog about. Men have also been on the disempowered receiving end of the third positon: when they had feelings for ME that I could not get myself to return. If I could flip this song to say “Sorry, you’re not my kind of guy”, then the heartbreaker in me would come out. Then men reading this would know the feeling— because they have been through the same as me. At one point, a women was indifferent to your advances — your charm, your stature, your good nature — because you were just not their kind of guy. It’s a cruel reality when it comes to this intangible feeling of sweet connection one is gaining from the other — but not reciprocated.

All this to say, I have no diagnosis. I empathize with all the other souls out there who have been in this pergatory of love, but I can’t doctor the remedy — because there is none. All I can say is better luck next time, and hopefully it’s the last time. Hopefully you found your needle in a haystack. I’ve stopped searching the hay and started looking up a bit more, enjoying the sun rises and sunsets. For some reason, it used to soothe my spirit to know “there is no such thing as your one soulmate — there are many people for us” is what we are told. But, really, is there? I’m starting to believe in The One Soulmate Theory again, because I believe love is less practicle (and not based on merit) and more dumb luck and divine fate.

Life is short. And Love? She is confusing. Don’t even pay attention to her world until her invisible forces make you bow down to her: for better to fight against falling in Love (because I believe it’s inevitible you can’t miss something meant for you) than fighting to manufacture her. She hates manufacturers of something so intrincially divine —a.k.a. fate, destiny, God, a miracle. Love is just that. Because too many people are manufacturing Love to fit in with other coupled-people’s lives — instead of letting Love, wherever she may be, fit in with their own life. Awe, the tortoise and the hare anology: the route to true love is often slow and veryyy humbling these days. Whenever that may be, whatever that may look like, rest your head in NOT knowing — because, my little warriors, you’ll still win. Time to relax on what you can’t control. Time to put the ice cream away and embrace the many other facets of this precious LIFE….