"Sorry, I can't talk right now. My closet has collapsed."

One of my favorite things to do is organize. When it comes time to rearrange items in the house or do deep cleaning, I'm thrilled to start compartmentalizing. I have to have my physical possessions organized or I start to feel anxious, so I've organized my electronics, my purses, my makeup, the items in the trunk of my car, my journals, and many other miscellaneous items. I even organize the apps on my phone according to if they relate to work, school, or entertainment. I even offer to help my friends reorganize and redecorate their spaces. However, there is one thing I do not like organizing and have formed a strong dislike towards, closets. There is something about organizing closet space that gets me to roll my eyes, let out a deep sigh of frustration, and hope I can get the clean up over within less than an hour.

Perhaps this was the reason for what happened two weeks ago.

I have a busy schedule for the remainder of the year. Fall semester is almost over at the time of me writing this, I have a book to finish the third rounds of editing for, and I have my yearly holiday gathering I do in celebration of my mother's birthday and festivities. After creating my schedule in my planner I decided to decorate my bedroom for Christmas since I would have no other time to dedicate to it. So, I took my Saturday night and spent it decorating my bedroom. I popped in "Tangled", fixed myself warm tea, and got to work on making my space even prettier than it already was. It ended up being a beautiful moment to myself, I sang along with the movie and filled my mind with positive thoughts. It was perfect, up until the very last minute. I had finished decorating and took the empty boxes that had once contained my decorations to store away in my closet or at least that was my original plan. I opened my closet doors, put one empty box on the top shelf, heard a creak, and then stared in shock as my entire closet shelves proceeded to break down the middle and send all my clothes tumbling. I think I stared at the wreckage for at least five minutes before I shouted for my mother to come to help me. Now, before anyone argues that it couldn't have been that bad, I'm here to tell you that you are wrong my friend.

1. This happened exactly at midnight which is not the best timing considering everyone wants to go to bed. 2. I am fortunate to be able to have a lot of clothes, but with that being said I have a lot of clothes. More than I'm comfortable admitting. 3. The way it all came down meant it wasn't going to be a quick and easy fix.

It took four hours to clear out my closet and clean up the mess. My clothes ended up in the living room, taking up both couches and recliners, and I ended up with an unplanned closet makeover. I spent all of Sunday shopping to find new shelving for my closet and a shoe rack. Monday, my mother and I spent a long time installing the new shelves, determined to make sure they were sturdy. Tuesday, I did nothing but separate my clothes into what I would keep and what I would give away. Through this entire experience, I was mildly annoyed but strangely I felt grateful that the closet had collapsed. It forced me to finally clean up the one area I had always avoided. The main reason I hated going through my closet was that it felt like too much to tackle at one time and I could never get everything positioned properly. This part might sound insane to some people, but I found that another reason for my avoidance of cleaning out the closet was because of memories I had associated with certain clothing items. There were so many different shirts, sweaters, and jackets that I rediscovered, some with fond memories and others of unfortunate ones. It was strange, it was as if I were looking through brief moments of my life or pieces of my personality through fabrics. I had an eye-opening moment that week, I realized why some people fall in love with fashion so passionately because it is a form of expression and storytelling. I had chosen to shove some stories to the very back of the space where I didn't have to look at them, but at the end that created only created a mess, in this case, both figuratively and literally. I felt proud when the closet was finished. Everything now has a place, I can view all my pieces easier, and I decorated it the way I wanted. What once was a dull white closet packed with uncoordinated clothes is now a clean space with items organized by color and clothing type, surrounded by posters, letters, and even a small dream catcher on the walls.

I never would have guessed a closet would teach me a little piece about myself, but that's the funny part about existing, some of the most random situations can bring lessons or joy.

*My advice: Always take time to clean your closet so it doesn't collapse.

I Disconnect So I Can Be My Normal.

Hello everyone! 

At the time of me writing this, I have been off of my blog for several months. I've realized that I don't like writing when I feel I'm confined to a schedule. I wish I could tell everyone to expect weekly updates from me on here, but the truth is if I'm not feeling genuine about whatever I'm trying to post on here then I don't want to throw it out to the world. In these last several months, I have been working on my fourth book, started writing my fifth book, trashed it, started writing my fifth book again, have been in college studying, and I've found out a lot more about my inner self that I didn't really know was inside me. However, this week has been the most creative and bizarre week of my existence. I think when I go into introspection it creates a disconnection from me and the world. I've always been highly interested in constantly digging deeper to find out more about myself, but I'm also highly interested in digging deeper to find out more about other people and lifestyles. So in my head the best place to start is with self and expand outward. 

Haha, this week was...such a trip. 

I'm curious if anyone else experiences this sensation or if it's just my personal experience with introspection and creativity. My creativity this week has been fueled to the brim, but in that I have felt a certain connection with like minded people and a disconnection from the reality of our world. I know that probably sounds ridiculous or super serious. I found that I'm more passionate and driven to write when I am thinking about my generation as a whole and what we're consistently facing day to day. There's a lot of situations we're placed in due to the actions and choices of a previous generation that had a completely different viewpoint of what was considered normalcy. So when I travel into my brain to figure out how to write something that's able to be for my generation while also bridging the gap between us and the older generation, it's like disconnecting from the world to try and analyze and portray the world! You're disconnecting from what you're studying, while still being enveloped in what you disconnected from. Does that make sense? I'm not saying it's the right approach or the right way to do things, but I am saying that it's what I do and it's given me so much to think about this week. I think the issue that arises the most between older generations and newer generations is that the definition of normalcy is varied. 

Normalcy doesn't really exist. 

We make it exist because we all have a different interpretation of it.

My generations normalcy is not the same as the previous one and it won't be the same as the next one.

Which is why when I hear people complain and criticize others for going outside of the "norm", I'm genuinely fascinated. The only thing that should be considered abnormal is cruelty. Being unkind, vicious, and evil should be abnormal.

Exploring lifestyle choices, sexuality, gender identity, and forms of self-expression should never be seen as abnormal. 

At the end of it all I don't think it really matters what we did or said to express ourselves because we're individually discovering ourselves and creating our view of the world from birth to death. As long as we did it all with love, honesty, and a sense of compassion for humanity I think that's what should be society's definition of normalcy. 

The Weight of Your Name

Crafting a name for a character is the most challenging and defining moment in writing a new story, each time I go into a new project I'm pressured with the responsibility of naming my creations. Often when this happens I think about how parents must feel when the time comes to choose a name for a child and I'm hit with the realization of how significant each person's name truly is. My first name was selected and crafted by my parents with a lot of care, my dad insisted my name being with the letter D and it was my mother who found the name Dasia falling into her lap one afternoon. My last name is one that I've grown to cherish, it's not a last name I hear often and it's always followed my first name with a unique charm. As I've aged my name has started holding more and more weight to it as I've discovered various layers to who I am as a person and what I enjoy and dislike in this lifetime. Names are so essential to the way we think about ourselves, a person's name ultimately becomes a source of strength. Whether you keep the name chosen for you or reinvent your own name, it's your own powerful source purely for you. How we define ourselves is an indication of how we'll choose to make our life choices and create our own life story. Each individual goes through a progression in their life of self discovery, taking different journeys to unearth things about themselves they never knew and learn how to love themselves for who they are, but it's admittedly difficult. If you're someone who lacks a sense of self, don't worry it doesn't make you strange and it doesn't mean you're void. It takes time to understand your own thoughts and emotions and how they apply to your personality. Personally, growing up with no siblings at home and no interest in extra curricular activities at school left me with a lot of alone time to let my curiosities float around my mind. I've spent nine years gathering courage, acceptance, and confidence to become the person I am currently. It took nine years to understand that the hobbies I love don't define me and the people around me don't have a right to label me, I can create my own definition of who I am in whatever way I want and realizing that brings a whole world of opportunity and freedom.

There's weight in your name, just as there is weight in my name, and I hope we all continue to work on ourselves with gentle compassion so it's never weight we can't carry.