It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve posted anything on the blog. Looking back, it hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it since there’s been a lot of big changes in my life recently.
I hereby self declare on the wide world of the interwebs: I, Christie Jones, am a phony yogi.
This past Wednesday I had my 23rd birthday, which was a self-celebration that made me have a few “aha” moments. When I thought about what I wanted to do this year to celebrate my day, I went through a plethora of possibilities. I could host a BBQ, go out in the city, invite friends out for dinner, the list goes on. But honestly, every time I thought about planning one of these options, my introverted brain got SUPER stressed out. I mean… just exhausted thinking about it.
I’m an introvert. I would shout that out to the world if that was something that introverts did. I’m not afraid to admit (although this took some time) that I like being alone… a lot. Even some of my BEST friends I only see every couple of weeks, and weirdly, I’m totally okay with that. With this being said, I wouldn’t trade my wolf pack of friends for the world.
Questioning women’s equality isn’t old news. Even in the suffragette days, women were being asked “don’t you have enough equality?” We let you go to school at Cornell (but not Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Brown, Dartmouth or Columbia), attend graduate school (sometimes, if you’re not married), and ride in cars (not trains, for fear that the speed would make ones uterus fly out).
“Hustle” is a term I have become WELL acquainted with since starting university. Being surrounded by entrepreneurs, and someday entrepreneurs, it seems to be quite the phenomenon to be able to grind and work day and night to say that you’ve “made it." Even if you’re not in business, I see posts about this sort of lifestyle on the daily in other contexts.
About a year and a half ago, I was browsing in my favorite used book store on my birthday when annoyingly, a book fell on my head. It kind of felt like something out of a movie, so I decided to buy the book, playfully taking it as a “sign from the universe.” The book was called The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Brontë by Syrie James, and it sat on my book shelf, all but forgotten about until recently.