a little letter to coronavirus

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so here. Love u.

Dear Coronavirus,

Oy. Hello, you. Let me start off by saying, your rise to fame is unmatched, so congrats. I was going to say, “don’t forget us little people,” but I’d rather go unnoticed if that’s alright with you. Also, you’re a bit confusing. You’re either the worst virus that’s ever happened — “a beast we can’t control” — or you’re just another strand of the flu with a very spooky name and an overworked PR team. Regardless, you’re surely somethin’. I don’t know how something of a something you are, but you’re doing a lot and it’s making me think.

You’re making me think about the fine line between fragility and durability. Of being weak and being strong. Of delicate and tough.

On fragility

On one hand, you’re showing the world how fragile we are. A house of cards, really. One new virus without a quick cure spreads like wildfire to 20+ countries, claims thousands of lives, breaks the stock market, and sells out hand sanitizer everywhere. One virus that’s making lines at Costco a nightmare. Causing families to cancel vacations they’ve saved for and planned for for years. Forcing people to stay home from work. Missing weddings. Calling home to make sure, for the 10th time, that your 60+ year old parents really are washing their hands. Achieving what every dermatologist has worked their lives for — a world where people touch their face less.

It’s crazy. One new thing and boom — people are worried. Like, truly, truly worried. And it all happened so fast — like a lit match falling on a newspaper trail around the world.

So wild. So fragile. And it makes you feel really, really small and out of control.

On strength

The only thing that’s not making me crack is thinking about the fact that I’m here. I’ve made it because every one my ancestors has made it through every single thing to get me here. I’ve written about this before.

About how many things my ancestors have overcome through strength and the being at the right place at the right time. At dodging death or overcoming it. At surviving through disease. Disaster. Financial crisis. Bumpy planes that they really thought were going down. Through really hard days and weeks and months and years where they wondered if they’d see the light of day.

Bill Bryson says it better:

Not one of your pertinent ancestors was squashed, devoured, drowned, starved, stranded, stuck fast, untimely wounded, or otherwise delivering a tiny charge of genetic material to the right partner at the right moment in order to perpetuate the only possible sequence of hereditary combinations that could result — eventually, astoundingly, and all too briefly — in you.”

Strength, durability, toughness at all the right times. Surely, a flu named after a sub-par beer won’t take me out now.

Okay. THAT said…

Here’s what I’ll be doing to avoid you, dear Coronavirus, from taking up too much of my thoughts.

1. Focusing on what’s in my control and letting go of what’s not.

2. Washing my hands often and for 20 seconds. Easy, because I, unlike apparently every other barbarian in the world, wash my hands often already.

3. Telling everyone I love them — yes, because there’s a weird spooky pandemic happening and who the fuck knows if I’m next — but moreso because you should always tell people you love them because duh. Life is fragile. Goes by in a blink.

4. Staying healthy now so I’m healthy when it counts. I’ve been back on my fitness/clean routine lately and it’s giving me so much confidence and comfort knowing that I’m prepping my body for when it needs extra armor. Feels good. It’s also almost summer, so this is a selfish “oh my god it’s almost bathing suit weather” move.

5. Lastly, I’m saying thanks. Thanks to you, you stupid virus, for reminding me of how fragile we are and how strong we are.

Alright coronavirus. Please enjoy this letter, and please do not write a letter back. I’d be very upset, wouldn’t open it, and would surely return to sender. Then get back to washing my hands.

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Hi. Thanks for reading this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

same but different. different but same.

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

I’ve been meaning to write something this week, but I’ve had so much work-writing that my brain power reserved for personal-writing does not exist. It checked out. Left the building. Hope she comes back. Instead of waiting for her triumphant return, I decided to just start typing, pen pal style, and see where we end up before I need to leave for work. Let’s see what happens, shall we?

Okay. Hiiiiii.

Good morning, cute people of this newsletter. I’ll paint you a picture of my vibe right now:

I’m in bed, and have about 30 minutes before I need to workout and walk into work. It’s beyond hard to get outta bed because the sky looks so, so pretty right now, and I have front row seats from my very cozy bed.

Woah. Anyway. I’ve been up for a while, just poking around. I’m in bed with coffee (iced, black, only a few cubes because our ice tastes weird and we don’t dilute our coffee in this house). No pants. Surrounded by a stuffed elephant named Albert, my kindle, my phone playing JB’s new album, and 2 identical thermometers.

Am I sick? Nope. Why the thermometer? Why 2? Cam’s been sick and although we LITERALLY kissed through saran wrap because we were so sad we couldn’t kiss, I’m still nervous I’ll catch the bug before we travel this weekend. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling hot — which, I generally always do, but anxious Taryn immediately thinks this time is different — and grabbed my thermometer. It happened to be next to another and I thought, huh — what if one gives me a shit reading? What if the batteries dead? Where do you even get these little tiny batteries if I ever needed to change it? Whatever — too many factors to just grab one, so you bet your sorry ass that I took my temperature twice on two identical thermometers, then slept like a weird little health-anxiety angel, nestled next to her medical devices. God, I’m wild.

In honor of the 2 thermometers, here are 2 thoughts I’m thinking about this morning:

Same place, different you.

I was looking at all my travel plans so far this year and most of them are places I’ve been before. Actually, they’re places I’ve been like… 3-15 times. Vegas. Kauai. Cancun. A tennis tournament in Palm Springs. Amsterdam. And I honestly couldn’t care less. It’s honestly the opposite — I cannot wait. Let’s talk Cancun for a second. I’ve gone every year since… honestly, since I can remember. My parents let me bring a friend or 4 every year. Yes, the place is the same. The activities are the same. The meals and the condos and the weather, mostly. It’s all the same. But it’s different every year because I’m different every year. Some of my wildest personal moments have happened in the same spot of the same pool in the same month, over and over again. I’ve cried with a stranger. I’ve had a panic attack. I’ve decided I was in love and decided I wasn’t. It’s wild. So, when my brothers or my friends who’ve gone before ask, “You’re doing Cancun AGAIN?” I say yes, but I want to say, “Yes, I’m going again. But also a new me is going this time. Old me and new me. We’re gonna have fun.”

Different place, same words.

Speaking of same and different — how crazy is it that you — yes, you! You in all your you-ness — are reading these words wherever you are in the world. In an uber. At your desk. At school. At your wedding , which, please put your phone down. In London or Africa or Iowa. You are reading the same words that someone else is reading somewhere completely different from you, or maybe the next house over and you don’t even know it. Like, have you ever been in a book club and felt some weird kind of closeness to the people in it, because you’ve both just spent all this time sat there reading the same sentences, wondering the same things, googling the same words because what the fuck does that one mean? There’s a weird community in shared experience, but especially when it comes to shared reading. Because you’re really shared thinking.

So, if you feel alone right now, just know this. There are lots and lots of other people reading this exact word right now. How cool. I hope it makes you feel a little less lonely.

Alright, cool. I gotta get up.

---

On dating Cammie Scott, lol

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily-ish newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

This is a post that I can’t believe I’m writing, on so many levels. But here goes.

Let me start off by introducing myself. Hi, I’m Taryn Arnold. I’m 29 years old, grew up in Orange County, went to school at ASU, and have lived in San Francisco for 5 years. My parents are my friends, my friends are my family, and I try really hard to write as much as I can so I don’t forget the days and thoughts and things that make me me. I work in tech and do some creative stuff on the side when my mind gets a second to breathe. I’m dating someone I’ve known for 5 years and I think it might be the real deal, but please remember that’s just a part of me. Not the whole bit. 

Now, why am I introducing myself at 5:47am on a Wednesday morning, on my own blog & newsletter to people who’ve read my shit for years and others who just recently popped in? Because life is funny and weird and here we are.

Context for the original subscribers: the past few months have been crazy, but the objectively craziest part of it all is that I’m now dating Cammie Scott. If you’re out of the social/youtube world, you might not know why this is worth noting — “why the fuck is she writing a thing about who she’s dating?” First, yes this is weird and wtf and huh, lol. I get it. Second, let me explain. Cammie Scott means a lot to a lot of people. A lot (a lot) of people follow her on social media/youtube, because she’s real and genuine and talks about social issues and health and wellness and being gay and her dog and skincare and life and never ever makes anyone feel weird for not knowing something or being someone that they aren’t yet, but wants to be. She’s easy and beautiful and smart and good at being a person, which is why so many people across the globe follow along and feel like they know her. Because they do, to some extent. If you’ve ever met Cam at a thing — on the street or a meetup or a speaking thing or idk, y’all will find her anywhere lol — you’ll know that she’s somehow better in person. She’s the realest. Nicest. Prettiest. Kindest. Actually looks at you when you talk. She’s the real deal — not this fake internet person who lives behind filters and edits and trendy background music. She’s real. And I love her for it.

“What’s it like - dating THE Cammie Scott?”

I did a Q&A on instagram last night, and wow, I can’t explain how many times I got this question (or questions about Cam in general). I get it — if I was a longtime follower and this new bitch walked into Cam’s life, I’d be curious too. I’ve been that person on the other side. I get it. And I’m sure we’ll answer some of your questions over time — how we met, how we started dating, what our next steps are, etc. — but for now, I wanted to give a peek into how weird this experience of dating Cam is.

It’s so weird to have people care about your relationship.

When I say care, I mean CARE. The amount of new followers I get. The attention. The eyes. Like, I get DMs every day of people saying “they approve” of me, or they’re “so happy to see how happy she finally is,” or every variant of our relationship being "goals/cutest ever/perfect/favorite couple” and more.

It’s bizarre.

I think there’s largely two things happening here.

• First, people care in the way that I cared about Cam before I met her 5 years ago. They see a gay girl (or couple) that makes them think twice. That makes them feel normal and seen and heard and understood. That they can relate to. That they can look up to or envy or judge or whatever it is that they need to do in that moment to get through it. So, naturally, people see that Cam has a new girlfriend and all eyes come my way — who is she? Do I “follow” her too? Because a “follow” isn’t just a follow — it’s a representation of interest and intent and acceptance. You follow someone because you are yesing them. Buying into them. “On board” with them. It’s weird.

• Second, since I’m a “normal person” with a desk job and average looks, people see me “winning Cammie Scott over” (yes, someone asked me how I managed that) and feel like they’re dating her through me, or they could. They go, “omg, if she can date Cammie (or someone like it), I can too.” So they watch and study and comment and like and feel like they’re getting this experience through me, a SIMPLETON, who scored the belle of the ball. Lol. 

  • Sidenote: Do you know how weird it is to have your girlfriend constantly 1) get tagged in photos of her and her exes, or 2) get pursued when people know she’s in a relationship? Comments on photos of us. DMs. People literally sending stuff to her to woo her. Girls girls girls. Listen up. Lean in. She’s been wooed. I’ve got it covered.

It’s all very weird.

It’s so weird to think twice about what I post.

I post a lot on instagram. I write for this newsletter. I write on my website. I have a podcast. And my entire vibe on the internet is to capture and share whatever feels right in the moment. Whatever I want to share. I let my mind run and post whatever. Because if you’re following me, it’s likely because you enjoy that side of me. You agree with my judgement on what’s worth posting — the little moments, the messy drafts,the rants, the dumb shit without filters or reason or hashtags or brand deals. The little moments in between the big things that are actually secretly the biggest things.

It sounds cheesy, but sharing is caring. Some of my favorite people that I follow are just real. Chrissy Teigen just thinks shit and says it. She’s absolutely rogue, but never disrespectful. Justin Bieber — thinks and says. Some of it is so fucking wacky, but you see him. You see what he's like on his couch on a Tuesday. In his car when he’s tired. It’s the special side of social that, I think, is really underrated.

So, sharing the mostly-unedited parts of my life is caring to me — it’s showing that life is not curated moments and posed photos. It’s not perfect bodies and the best seats in the house. And when people show that side of them, I feel more understood. I feel less alone. So, that’s why I do it.

Now. Cam’s job happens on social media. My playground is her place of work. Cam doesn’t/would N E V E R police what I can/can’t post, but I’m hyper aware now. I’m thinking twice. It’s both fun and annoying as fuck. I probably shouldn’t post this pic of us at the park right now, because people will find out where we’re sat and although it would be nice to meet some new people, I kinda just wanna be on a park date with Cam. I probably shouldn’t share this bit of info because people will think it means something it doesn’t. I know that this thing that I’m writing right now — this very post — is something Cam purposefully won’t do, because she doesn’t want everything in her life to be online. She doesn’t want her life to be her relationship. She wants some privacy. She wants some things kept to herself.

That said, I’m a sharer. I overthink and overshare, and Cam loves me for it. So here I am, thinking twice. Editing a shit ton out as a write, but still writing, because it’s not like me to stop. I wouldn’t date Cam if I had to change parts of me to fit into her life. I’m me and she’s her and that’s fun — I’ll just go slower before I hit post and try to see things from every little angle, like I know many of you will ;)

It’s so weird to have people talking about you.

The next thing I’m going to say is something I CANNOT believe is real, but it is. When Cam and I started dating, I found out that there’s an online chat forum for lesbians around the world to chat/gossip/shit talk about other REAL people, and it’s public and it’s mean. I was shocked when I found this out. People care that much? I guess if I cared about something that much, I’d like to chat with people too. But people are really, at this moment, sat on their ass, looking at some forum, typing about me? Nice things and mean things, but mostly mean things?

Yes, the nice comments and DMs and emails and tweets and everything else outweighs the bad a million to one, of course. For every mean thing said, there’s truly a million nice. But it’s still SO weird to have mean shit said about you. That I’m a rebound. That I’m nothing like her ex from 4 years ago. That I’m x and y and z and everything in between. So when the million nice things come through, all I see is the 1 mean thing that leaked in too… which is… weird.

I don’t have drama in my life. People don’t really dislike me — I’m pretty unproblematic. I’m caring and kind and thoughtful and a lot of really good things. Until a few months ago, I can’t tell you the last objectively “mean” thing I’ve read/seen/heard about me. And now, because I’m dating someone that people “care” about, random people around the world say what they want and think I won’t see. Or, they think I will see, which is so fucking crazy to continue to type the words and say the things and then, post.  “Yep. I like it. I like what this says about a girl I’ve never and will never meet, and know nothing about. Post. To the internet. For other people to see.”

Weird.

I did not ask for “this.”

I’ve only allowed myself to look at that stupid forum 2 times in the last few months because it throws me off every time. The last time I looked, someone said something along the lines of, “She thinks we’re not gonna talk about her? What did she expect, dating Cammie Scott? Of course we’ll talk about her. She asked for this.”

And by “this” I mean, having people talk about me/my relationship like they’re getting paid to report for gay TMZ. I really did not ask for that. 

What I actually asked for, was to do life with someone I really, really like. Someone that makes me better. Someone that loves me for me. Someone that I can’t get enough of, so I’m forcing my airplane-hating-self to get on stupid airplanes every other weekend to see. Someone that’s gorgeous and goofy and simultaneously everything and nothing like what you’d expect. Someone that is a breath of fresh air personified. Someone that I’ve known for five years. Someone that I’ve spent 2 thanksgivings, 1 passover, 1 christmas, 1 new years, and a whole lot of bachelor mondays with. Someone that I feel weird not sleeping next to. Someone that texts me cute little things when I need it most, like she can read my mind. Someone that’s as crazy about me as I am about her. Someone that woke me up at 3am the other day so we could just “hang out,” and ended up crying laughing in the middle of the night before we went back to sleep.

I did not sign up to be the subject of your comments. But I’ll take it, because I signed up to date Cam — my friend turned girlfriend — and I’m so happy I did. 

That’ll do for this morning. 

It’s now 6:59am. Cam just got to boxing and I’m going down to the gym. 

I don’t write this for sympathy or woe is me. I’m happy. Beyond happy. Happiest I’ve been. This isn’t bad, it’s just new. It’s so, so weird. I hope you don’t read this and go, “wow, this must be so hard” or “she wants to be left alone.” I’m just answering your question — ”what’s it like to date Cammie Scott?” — and I really hope it makes you think twice about what you say/don’t say online. What you do/don’t do. What you feel/do/say about the random girl someone you follow online starts dating. 

Hi. It me. I’m the girl.

One thing I want to say is a huge, big, massive woah of a thanks to all the people that were following along with me before I dated Cam, and the ones that have joined since (for me though, not because I’m half of a relationship). I love to write and it’s beyond special to have an audience of people who actually truly care about what I have to say. It’s making me tear up just thinking about it. I’ve met some of you. Emailed with many of you. Read DMs and comments from most of you. And every time you say a nice thing, I appreciate it more than you know.

The internet is weird. I gained 5k+ followers in a few months, for dating a girl I’ve kinda always loved. I’ve become half of a “goals” couple. And you know what? I really do smile every time I get a nice DM or a comment or a something. A new subscriber or a new listener or a new fan of something I’ve made. I really like it. It’s a boost of happy in a weird world. 

All said and done, I hope this didn’t read as a big “leave me alone” rant. Instead, I hope it reads like this: 

Hi, I’m Taryn Arnold. I’m 29 years old, grew up in Orange County, went to school at ASU, and have lived in San Francisco for 5 years. My parents are my friends, my friends are my family, and I try really hard to write as much as I can so I don’t forget the days and thoughts and things that make me me. I work in tech and do some creative stuff on the side when my mind gets a second to breathe. I’m dating someone I’ve known for 5 years and I think it might be the real deal, but please remember that’s just a part of me — not the whole bit. 

---

Psst. Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

to all who got me here

This post was originally written on 12/27/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

Have you seen Battle of the Sexes? If you haven’t, you should. And if you have, you should watch it again. It’s touches on the incredible story of one of the best female tennis players of all time, Billie Jean King, and her fight against the US tennis association about equal prize money for women in the early 70’s. It’s an unbelievable story — a movie I would’ve watched regardless, but was made even better because the girl who plays Emma Stone’s tennis double is a girl that used to play at my tennis academy. Wild. 

billie jean king

Thank you, Billie.

About 5 minutes into the movie, I felt indebted to Billie, more than I could ever describe. Not only did she fight for gender equality, but after splitting from her husband and coming out later in life, she was a huge activist for the LGBTQ community. She used her platform to change the world, and the things she said and did nearly 50 years ago have a direct impact on my life and the lives of so many. 

It’s amazing to think about the amount of people it’s taken to bring me to today. Let’s start at my parents, then zoom out to both their sets of parents, then both their sets of parents, then… etc. etc. etc. My teachers, coaches, friends, all the people who haven’t accidentally hit my car on the freeway, my great great great great grandparents I’ve never thought about until this very moment. All the decisions they made and didn’t make, the times they escaped illness or jail or death, just to meet the spouse and have the kid and raise the kid to meet their spouse to have the kid to raise the kid to meet THEIR spouse and get engaged and then almost call it off and then NOPE they’re staying together and then 5 generations down the line, I showed up. By the time I was born, someone had already figured out which clothes are safest for babies. How to test kids for disease. Which neighborhoods in California were most conducive to a happy and healthy upbringing. How to build and buy and use a cell phone, then how to play Snake, how to text, how to get rid of all the buttons and leave one huge screen instead. If my parents alone were the only people I ever interacted with, I owe them my life, not only for creating me, but for spending each day making the choices that got me here.

It’s mind-blowing, the stars that lined up to get me here. With my exact DNA and characteristics and hometowns and interests and skills. I try to think about all those people often, even though I could never fully understand the amount of people who’ve had a hand in my life. I’m thankful nonetheless.

All these thoughts brings me to one of my favorite little pages in a book called The Daily Stoic by Ryan Holiday. Enjoy:

tears coming: my mom writes

This post was originally written on 12/22/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

Oh gosh. You asked, and my mom delivered. I gave her a bunch of questions this morning, and her responses… are the most sweet. I am speechless. Deena, take it away!

to give you a visual, here's our adorable star answer her question this morning 😭

1. How did we meet?

I would like to say we met “accidentally” and it was “love at first sight” but the truth is we met on purpose and it was “love at first sight!”

Taryn here. You could say it was a meet cute. 

2. Who are you?

Born and bred in San Diego, CA, home of the nicest weather in the nation! Taryn asks “who am I”? Tough question: I am a wife and a mom first and foremost, I am part of a family that I love. I am confident, comfortable in my own skin, love my life, and treasure so many memories and excited for what lies ahead. I love to travel and am so fortunate to have been raised with parents who were avid travelers — I have embraced their passion. I enjoy reading, writing (also addicted to journals), love to play games (almost ALL of the fam plays games together and finally found one game Steve likes and will join), absolutely love movies, and love dogs (always have and always will). I have worked since I was young and been classified as a workaholic (strange thought as I am now taking a break and spending quality wife time, and of course fam time too). I could go on and on but that would be “too boring” I am sure. In truth, I am grateful for my life and very comfortable with who I am.

The only person that loves dogs more than I do is my mom, and there is no chance that her going on would be “too boring.” 

3. What's the hardest thing about being a mom?

Being a mom is so amazingly rewarding that it is hard to pinpoint the hardest thing about it. I dreamed of being a mom since I was a little girl myself. I couldn’t think of anything else being more rewarding. Hardest part: I have and still do want to see my children happy. Happy in life, happy in love, feeling good about themselves, having life be easier. It always pains me when they are going through hard times, although I know they are learning and growing and that is a huge important part of life, it still pains me. I would love to take the pain away. The door has always been open for them to come to me and “talk” and with that I am being honest, sometimes if they are feeling pained it makes me so very sad, but even with that I wouldn’t change their opening up with me anytime, always.

“Happy in love” is so cute, it burns. 

4. Do you remember when I came out to you?

Yes is the answer. Absolutely. And I cherish the moment. I cannot tell you how honored I was that you felt comfortable enough to share with me, to trust me, to open up with me. I come from a belief that we are all human and should be celebrated for who we are, and it is and never will be my right to judge another for what they believe or choose. I have to be honest though, I am not fond of those who judge others (my one caveat to being non-judgmental). In remembering the moment, I thought you were so brave and I felt an abundance of so much love for you. I know it was so hard for you and I felt you knew the path could be difficult, especially given the religious twist, but I was so proud of you for being true to yourself. Since being a little girl, you have shown a confidence and conviction that comes from within, you know who you are and you have embraced it. You embraced early on individualism which I so admired! I remember feeling so much love my heart was bursting and I knew I would always be there to give you love and encouragement if times got hard. I also felt so fortunate I was your mother because I hoped it would make life easier for you.

It’s hard to tie up my thoughts at the end of these now. They’re just… so… sweet. She said she “cherishes” the moment I came out to her. That is unreal. Truly.

5. What's it like, having a "not straight" daughter?

Wow, big question. It’s one that’s a little hard to answer. It really doesn’t feel too different to me. So, you have a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend. Who really cares. I can say that in having a “non-straight” daughter, I think I feel a little overprotective at times when it comes to others’ being judgmental. That is something I personally continue to work through. I just hope that the world continues to become more open to others and doesn’t ever go backwards. As far as you go, I look forward to your wedding (that should be a little different and a new experience – who walks who down first, father of the “brides” dance, etc.) and you’re having a family and being a part of all that life brings you.

I think about the wedding complications all the time. All the time. We’ll see how it goes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

6. Readers want your momma advice. What advice to you have for new/soon-to-be parents?

Taryn, for 8:12am in the morning you sure threw me some deep questions. This is what I can say in my current morning state. My advice is simple: love your children unconditionally. Be open with them. Allow and encourage them to be themselves. Foster them to be good human beings. Some things you hear won’t be what you want to hear, but if you open yourself to them to tell you “anything” you need to be able to “listen” and not judge. Let them know you are safe, and to be “safe” you need to stay open. One thing I learned from my dad (learned a ton from him – absolutely love him!), when you are needing to discipline your child for something, don’t threaten something you are not prepared to go through with as it is critical that you follow through. So make sure what you are threatening is something you are prepared to make happen (don’t say no TV for a month and let them watch some special show in a week because it is a one-time event). I have always thought that was good advice. One last thing, I think it is really important to love your spouse (I sure do!) and stay in love with them (date night, trips, good communication, etc.) so that your children are part of a good relationship and will hopefully strive for that in their own relationships.

Wow, after all these years, I’d never heard my mom explain the rule her dad taught her — I’d only seen her and my dad act it out. Really cool. It’s cool to read your parents’ writing. I like this, a lot. 

7. Any advice for parents/siblings/friends of someone coming out?

A. For parents, for some of you I can imagine that this can be hard. Especially if you have been taught or believe that “this is wrong”. I recommend one thing, try to remember that this is your child who you love and cherish. Remember they are a person with feelings. Try to remember that the world can be cruel and as a parent, you want to be there for your child through good and tough times. Try to set aside your fears and stay open. Encourage open and safe communication. Remember your child may go through hard times of feeling alienated, and hopefully they see you as someone they can come to and who becomes an advocate for them.

B. For siblings, this is where I give a shout out to Taryn’s siblings. They are the best. Open and loving and never treated her any different in anyway. I hope everyone has the same experience here. I can only say life is too short if you are having an issue with your sister/brother.

C. For Friends, I hope this is a non-starter. I looked up different meanings of “friend” and really liked a couple: “People who are aware of how dumb you are and still manage to be seen in public with you”. “A friend is someone you love and who loves you, someone you respect and who respects you, someone whom you trust and who trusts you”. I believe if someone is a true friend, they will love you unconditionally. Sometimes the path you chose may not be the popular one or the one someone else wants you to choose, but those of your friends that truly love you will love you for just the same. I hope that you as a friend will rise to the occasion of what it means to be a friend. 

SHE LOOKED UP DEFINITIONS OF FRIEND. FOR THIS POST. HOW CUTE. IS THAT. IT HURTS. IT BURNS. 

8. What is my worst quality?

What is your worst quality? That is really for you to delve into. I believe nothing is “worst”, just work in progress or something you embrace and try to improve on (if you so choose). For me, I wish you didn’t get so worried and anxious about things. I wish that for you. I wish “don’t sweat the small stuff” resonated with you and that you didn’t get so worked up about things. It pains me to see you in fear. I wish I could take it away.

What is your worst quality? That is really for you to delve into. I believe nothing is “worst”, just work in progress or something you embrace and try to improve on (if you so choose). For me, I wish you didn’t get so worried and anxious about things. I wish that for you. I wish “don’t sweat the small stuff” resonated with you and that you didn’t get so worked up about things. It pains me to see you in fear. I wish I could take it away.

“This is really for you to delve into.” Gosh, this rules. It’s up to me to find those things out. 

9. What's your favorite thing about me? 😏

Please don’t get me started. I am your mom and this is an impossible thing to pinpoint. If I had to say, I think I will answer it in “one sentence”. My favorite thing about you is that you are open, honest, deep, funny, hilarious, outgoing, introspective, smart, witty, “yourself”, friendly, giving, and loving. So very loving. And super talented! Cant wait until you have your own talk show some day (no question, I am your biggest fan and will always be there to support!).

To all who believe you are my biggest fan, you’ve certainly met your match.

10. Anything else you want to add?

I want to share with everyone reading Taryn’s newsletter how very proud I am of her. She is an amazing person, and even if I wasn’t her mom, I would think the same. Each time I read her daily newsletter, I thank my lucky stars I am to be her mom. I cannot say that enough and it brings tears to my eyes. I couldn’t ask for a more wonderful human being to be my daughter and cherish each and every day as her mom.

Gosh. I have no words.

😭

if you could spend an hour with any celebrity...

This post was originally written on 12/23/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

Maura, my coworker-turned-friend, asks: 

If you could spend 1 hour with 1 celebrity, who would it be? 

Awesome question, and one that I’d normally have a heyday battling myself over — Justin Bieber, because I have a million questions to ask. Ellen Degeneres, because I want her advice. John Mayer, because wow, what a life. 

I would normally spend hours on this question, but tonight, when I read it, my response was simple. If I could choose to spend an hour with anyone, celebrity or not, it would be my parents. They are celebrities to me. 

I’ll be honest. I am terrified to lose them someday. I have a ball in my throat as I write this. Everyday they get older, I panic. Every time they get sick, their bodies hurt, they cough, I get nervous. Last night, we were googling the average life expectancy in the US. It’s 78. If they are “average,” I have about 20 years left to spend as much time with them as I can. 

And I do. I am religious about time spent with them. I love traveling with them, playing games with them, watching movies with them, doing nothing with them. I am so acutely aware that, even if we don’t see it, the days are always numbered. It is my greatest fear to say “see you later” someday. I quite honestly don’t know who I will be when that day comes, and while I hope to have decades of full, amazing, colorful years with them ahead, I will still take any extra hour I can get. 

That’s why I’d pick them over anyone, even just for 60 minutes.

Oh, and if you don’t believe in fate, check out the pjs my mom just walked in wearing, right as I wrote this post:

Also, a shirtless guy is on TV and my dad just said, “Deena, you don’t have to look…” They cute. Very cute. 

See you tomorrow, 

Taryn

pay it forward

This post was originally written on 12/24/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

I hate distance. I hate that people live in different cities, states, countries. I hate that you can’t always buy your favorite people a cup of coffee when you want to… except… you can.

Coffee's on me this Christmas Eve

About 30 minutes ago, I was sitting outside reading when a friend popped into my head. I haven’t seen them in a few months, but I get glimpses of their life on Instagram every day. These glimpses, honestly, suck. They’re nice, because it’s cool to have some idea of what they’re up to as time passes, but they suck. They don’t do your relationship, or the person, justice. The 10 second clips and filtered photos are just not real. It all pales in comparison to sitting across from them at a cafe or bar, being with them. Hearing them laugh. Seeing them smile. Making eye contact. Touching their arm, saying “OH MY GOD,” and spilling some real gossip that you’ve been dying to tell them. 

I stopped reading. I closed my book (aka turned off my Kindle) and pictured all the people I felt this way about, just in this moment alone. The people I wish I could sit across from over coffee or gin & tonic. The people I would see on Christmas Eve if my family wasn’t around. 

I pictured all those people at a table together. It was a dope table, filled with all the friends who I didn’t see enough of this year. I removed my roommates, coworkers, or friends I see often, and was left with a table of people who don’t live in the same areas and don’t know each other well. It was my dream table. Oh how I wish I could buy them coffee. 

So, I did.

I whipped out my phone and sent a $5 venmo to the 16 people who sat at that table in my mind, drinking warm coffee and catching up. As I mentally walked around the table and sent venmos, I thought to myself, “wow, it would be epic if even one of these people paid it forward.” 

CALL IT A CHRISTMAS EVE MIRACLE:

Hope this inspires you to do the same. Think of your dream table, then reach out. Don’t let money be an issue — think of ways to pay it forward with a personal note, a “gosh I miss you,” an “I would love to buy you coffee.” 

Merry Christmas Eve everyone — hope it’s the coziest one yet.

it's christmas. give presence, not presents.

This post was originally written on 12/25/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

Be here. Stay present. The holidays are one of the few times of the year that are, in every way, devoted to togetherness. Don’t waste the moment looking down at a screen. This stupid screen is useful most days to help you keep in touch with your tribe, but when you’re with them, BE in touch with them. Look at them. Listen to them. Cook with them. Play with them. Hear stories you’ve heard 100 times, because one day, you won’t be able to. Ask questions you’ve never asked, because one day, you won’t be able to. See them, watch them, play with them, because one day, you just won’t be able to.

Taryn. Hear yourself, and don’t keep reminding yourself of this (which, I do. I say “be here” in my head about 10x a day). Be here. Here is all you’ve got. Take no moment for granted. Take pictures and videos of things you don’t want to forget. Jot notes of silly things your parents said. But whatever you do, don’t get on that fucking screen and scroll. Don’t get lost in feeds. Don’t watch clip after clip after clip until you’re so far in, you have no idea what anyone physically around you has been doing or saying or laughing about. 

Don’t be an insect, flying at the light and the buttons and the glow, missing every beautiful little thing around them. 

Merry Christmas. I hope you were able to be present today. And if you weren’t I hope you try again. 

clean on the outside, messy on the inside

This post was originally written on 6/18/18 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

We really do, but before we get too excited, I’d like to start tonight’s note by setting the record straight — this is not going to be a triumphant comeback. It’s more of a quiet, peek around the corner, “oh hey, is that Taryn?” kinda comeback. 

Why not a long one tonight?

Easy — two reasons.

1) I’m catching up on Love Island with Bree and we’re on the third hour of the night. To say my eyelids are drooping would be a massive understatement. They’re dropping like anchors. 

2) My world has been in a bit of whirlwind lately, and to be real, I’ve been out of it. Let me explain with a metaphor:

I take a lot of pride in my bedroom. From the outside, it’s meticulously clean. My floors are clear. Surfaces wiped. Fresh flowers in vases around the room. Bed always made. Watches organized on a stand. Candles perfectly balanced — a big one next to a few small ones with some tea lights in the open space. Everything has it’s place. The boys walk through my room and talk about how cozy and comforting and calm it is. From first glance, it’s perfect. 

Then, you open a drawer. Absolute mayhem. Almost every drawer in my room can be described in one word: chaos. Every drawer is a junk drawer — next to nothing is organized. 

The other day when I was cleaning my room, shoving things in random drawers so it looked nice on the outside, I was slapped with how much of a metaphor it was for the last few weeks of my life. 

Things have been good on the outside. I make people laugh and do good work and get drinks with friends and lead a healthy life. 

But things are a bit different on the inside.

I’ve been stuck in my body, worried about my random health problems. My back is spent and my digestion is off and my right eye is twitching. According to my calculations, I’m a goner. Note: My calculations are never right, but I always check them 2039842398 times, just in case.

I’ve been I’ve been stuck in my head, stressed about a lot of things. The news. My friends. The future. My tan. My work. The creative in me that needs rest and inspiration at the same time. The athlete in me that wants to run around but spends most of my hours at a desk. The daughter in me that wants to cook dinner with my whole family like I’m 17.

I’ve just been off, and that’s okay. I’m thankful that I’ve done enough work on myself through the years to know what gets me here, then how I can work myself back to homeostasis. It’s funny, though. I love a good metaphor, but have never thought about my clean room, and how it’s one massive metaphor. I want to look perfect during the messy weeks. I’m walking around with pretty flowers on the surface, candles lit, ambiance everywhere, but I’m really shoving the loose ends into the drawers like it’s a race, only to have to clean them out later.

Please, no worrying about me allowed — just had a few weird weeks in my head, but we’re on the up. Just wanted to remind you that everybody has loose papers and ugly cables and extra things they don’t really need. Shoving those things in the back of a drawer doesn’t make them disappear. In fact, they’ll bug you more when you find them later. 

The next time you’re in cleaning mode, look at things and put them where they’re meant to be. Toss the bad, wrestle with the hard, and cherish the good. You’ll thank yourself later.

I love you. Happy Monday. 

my neighbor just slapped me? lol

This post was originally written on 12/21/17 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.

I mean, it was friendly slap, but a slap nonetheless. 

Today, Kris and I were packing up the car to drive to my parents second home in Palm Springs (we’ll celebrate Christmas and New Years here). It was not the easy, throw your bags in the back and hop in type of packing — it was the kind where you have more bags than there are stars, so you’re playing a giant game of tetris. Once we were finally finished, my sweet dog Buddy decided to run across the street to kiss my neighbor, Grace, a lovely woman in her mid-60’s. I’ve known Grace for 20+ years, so I happily run over to save her from Buddy’s eventual million kisses… Here’s where the slap happened. Now, I’ll give you the actual play by play of the conversation, but I want you to understand how often this exact convo happens. It’s more normal with people who don’t know me well, but rare with people who do… because… you’ll see:

~convo begins~

Grace: Hi Taryn! How are you?!

Taryn, frantically grabbing Buddy: Great! 

Grace, wasting no time: Find a boyfriend yet?

Taryn, confused, but not about to dive in: Ah, nope. Not yet!

Grace: *rolls eyes*

Grace: *laughs*

Grace: *slaps Taryn, playfully, like the way your grandma slaps you where it doesn’t hurt at all but also stings for a second*

Taryn: Haha, I’ll tell my parents you say hi!

Taryn: *runs 40 feet to Kristina*

~end convo~

Oh, that kinda "girlfriend"

The funniest thing about this exchange is that I brought Kristina to Grace’s 4th of July party this year, and surely introduced her as my girlfriend. I know my parents refer to her as my girlfriend as well, but unfortunately, “girlfriend” is a weird word. 

Watching someone try to figure out what I mean when I say “my girlfriend” is like watching them try to assemble a puzzle with 10 missing pieces. 

I’m sorry, did she say girlfriend? Does she mean girlfriend like pal, or girlfriend like omg she’s kissing girls on her free time?? Is she gay? I thought she dated that one boy… but I guess she does like to wear Converse, and hasn’t had a boyfriend in a while…

Because of this, it always feels like I’m coming out to people. I have to say “girlfriend” a few times, then try to find another way to explain it instead of saying “WE JUST KISSED A LOT IN YOUR DRIVEWAY LOL DO YOU NOT GET IT?”

Sometimes you have to show instead of tell. If we know people aren’t getting it (like at a bar or party), Kris will hold my hand or kiss my cheek… and even then, it’s unclear, because sometimes girls hold hands or make out when they’re drunk. 

It’s both hilarious and exhausting, but it comes with the territory. If you’re lucky, this rigamarole will only result in your neighbor (who has known you since you were a baby and met your girlfriend multiple times) slapping you and telling you to get a boyfriend. 

Also, chills.

Here’s a text my aunt just sent me:

how about we try again?

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, an email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.

It’s gonna be a no from me this morning.

I'm not going to lie — this morning is not it, and it's only 8:27am. I really, really wanted some headspace this morning to write out my thoughts on Kobe/Gianna/all the people on that flight, but instead, I'm over here obsessively checking my blood pressure, heart rate, ECG-thing on my apple watch — juuust fucking flipping out. 

If you're new around here, your girl has health anxiety (look it up if you'd like to understand my misery, lol but also not lol). I won't dive into it because that's not what I need right now, but I'll give you the basics: 

• Had it since I was 10

• Think about it so so so many times a day 

• Seen so many therapists it's crazy

• Seen basically every doctor ever, including... 20+ visits to the ER for things I thought were heart attacks

It's very, very not fun. And this morning had a few things that got me spooked, so I'm going to do all the things I need to do to make myself nice and cozy. 

I'm not here to complain, get tips, or get sympathy. Really, I don't want or need it. But I do want to say this, and if you've read enough of my stuff, you know I believe this to my core — you can restart a day whenever you want to.

Get out of bed on the wrong foot this morning? Get back in and try again. First few hours didn't go your way? Cool. In your head, count that as an entirely different day. Take a deep breath and start over. Have a weird interaction with someone you love? Pause. Take a deep breath. Archive. Reset. Start over. Don't let a whole day be a "bad day" because you had a bad moment, or maybe a string of a few. 

You can always restart, reset, and try again. I'm doing that today, and if you need to, I hope you do too. 

---

Hi. Thanks for the read — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, here’s 2 options to keep the fun going. You could 1) share this with someone, or 2) join my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

the most romantic thing in the world

I've been giddy the last few days. 

It’s weird. It’s not because of circumstance. Nothing has changed, really. I just feel like I’m walking around with rose-colored glasses. 

The best word I can use to describe what’s making me giddy is the feeling of romance. I’m feeling romance in everything. I know it sounds cheesy, but hang tight.

Romance (noun)

A quality or feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life.

I’m drunk on the romance that comes with fate. Chance. Not knowing if something is the right time, right place, or if it’s been meant to be since before you were born. 

It’s so mysterious and exciting and weird to think about all the little things in life that came to be.

The single most romantic thing in the world is that fact thE you met your most important people. 

Think about your most important people. Your family. Your best friend since 5th grade, or the one since last year. The ones who broke you heart and the ones who you might marry. The coworkers who are somehow more your best friends than your best friends. Your dog who you can't imagine life without. That bitch who hurt you so bad, you changed your course. 

Those people. Good important and bad important, which is all good important, I think. 

Now. According to the first link I clicked on, there are currently 7,721,613,916 people in the world. That means of all the people you could’ve met, you had a one-in-7B+ chance of meeting those people. 

Think about the moment you met them. Here's how I’ve met some of my most important people: 

• They were dating the boy I had a crush on in 7th grade

• We ran into each other in the dorms when I was randomly walking through a dorm I didn’t live in

• Their parents raised them Christian when mine did not but I somehow became their youth group leader (wtf?)

• Their parents chose to have kids at the same time as mine did, raise them in southern California next to where my parents did, chose a certain set of schools over another like my parents did, and happened to have some common interest that brought us together

• They went to the same extremely small concert at a dive bar that I almost didn’t go to and came up to me after I was randomly asked to play cowbell for some audience participation  

• They wanted a new job so they searched the right things and landed on the job description for the company I worked for, which happened to need a person with those exact skill sets and had the right comp and right timing and right everything, and the only reason I worked there was because my friends took a chance on a company that had 0 employees and worked really hard so that we’d make enough money to get to 200 employees and post job descriptions to hire more

Okay. Weird, yes. But it's 1593827x weirder to think about every little perfect decision and right timing and left turn instead of right turn and parents choice and grandparents choice and the right people meeting forever and ever and not dying in a car crash or from choking on steak or a bug bite SO THAT this exact chain of events kept happening and you could meet those people at that time.

The people who you cannot imagine your life without, brought to you by __________. Something. Fate. Destiny. Complete chance. I don’t care what you call it, I just care that you take a second to celebrate how weird it all is. How sweet it all is. 

How romantic it all is. 

Cool. Well. I don’t expect your life to change because of this. That’d be great, but I don’t. These probably aren’t new thoughts or the most groundbreaking words you’ve ever read. 

But I really do hope this changes the way you see  your most important people. That you say the things you really want to say, because it all lined up for you to. That you thank them in your heart, or with your words or actions or a gift or a hug. That, when you’re with them, you really feel being with them in your heart. The magic and mystery and absolute fucking romance that you found each other at all. 

Since I started writing this post about 22 minutes ago, 

• 5,400 babies were born. 

• 3, 365 people ended their journey.

• And you should close this and go love on your people while you’ve got them.

what did you keep? — the daily taryn

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.

A few weeks ago, I briefly mentioned a really sad Uber I was in. I mean, the car wasn’t sad. The driver was. Honestly, she wasn’t even sad, but her stories and her memories and what we talked about made me really, really sad. Even though it was a while ago, I want to tell you a bit about it as I’ve thought of it every day since.

But before I get into it, I need to do a very embarrassing thing. Some of you have been asking if you could send money to say thanks for The Daily Taryn, which, gosh. That really is the most kind. If you are one of those people or are not but still want to send some dollars over for the last month’s work, you are true angles. I don’t deserve or expect it, but if I can buy a drink on you after this ends, I will surely cry a little happy tear. I’ll leave the info for how to do that at the end of this post.

When a ride is more than a ride

Okay, back to it.

It might shock you to know that I loathe chit chat or mingling of most kinds. Chatting with uber drivers is generally not my thing but this night, I think it was serendipity. A happy accident. Little magic that I was matched with this girl.

I was ubering home after a drink with some friends and got a very sweet driver. She was kinda quiet, but you could really she really wanted to talk. She was kind and funny and reserved until given the floor — when homegirl had the stage, she said it all.

I’m not sure how we got there, but we were talking about growing up. She told me how bullied she was. How she was always, always picked last. She remembered everything — her bullies names (yes, multiple). The exact sentences they said. The people standing around her when it happened. The way no one ever helped.

I saw a picture of a kid on her lockscreen and asked if it was hers. She excitedly shared about him — her son — and her incredible husband that she created him with. She was so, so happy. All smiles to be talking about this with me.

Then. She says this: “After all those years, I never thought I’d marry a man like him. I never saw it in the cards for myself. A skinny, attractive man. I never thought I’d be worthy of it, or that a man like him would look at someone like me and think I’m beautiful.”

I will never forget it. She was not fit, but she was certainly not fat. The fact that she felt this way about herself, it crushed me. And it crushed me more because it made sense. She remembered every little mean thing people said to her for probably 40 years. She wasn’t confident because she couldn’t be confident — the world didn’t make room for her to grow.

And yet, she was happy. She talked through these memories like they were exactly that — memories. Things that happened in the past and brought here to who she is today. She was so positive and kind. An amazing listener. So friendly. Asked incredible questions. She was a wife and a mother and a bread winner and a person I hope to see again. She came out on top.

What did you keep?

She overcame it all, but she kept a lot of things. She kept a lot of hurt. She kept memories, and you could tell they still stung like a fresh wound.

What did I keep?

Since that ride, I’ve continually asked myself that questions. What did I keep?

What memories or insecurities or vivid dreams or one-liners or handwritten notes or backhanded compliments did I keep for all these years?

I have a terrible memory, but I know some of the things for sure. Now, so does my therapist. I’ve literally had sessions where I’ve asked if I could just talk through memories — the few that I have — to try to make sense of why those stayed and others didn’t.

I wonder what I kept that I don’t even remember. The comments or actions or secrets seeped right through my memory into some back alley of my brain. Present Taryn doesn’t know how they’re affecting me, but they are. I wonder what those things are. I’ll keep looking. I’m excited to find out.

If you haven’t thought about what you kept, you should. It’s important to know. It’s important to know what you kept so you can know what you need to let go.

—

Alright, back to you angels who want to compensate me, for whatever reason. Thank you. It means the world. If you want to buy me a coffee or drink or dinner or ROUNDTRIP FLIGHT TO EUROPE — you can send some love on venmo or paypal. Venmo is @taryn-arnold and paypal is here. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

talk about being gay — the daily taryn

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.

The daily-ness of this newsletter is almost over, and I feel slightly bad for not creating one main post all about “gay stuff” — especially since that was the number one requested topic. Instead of creating that post, I’m going to tell you why I won’t.

why I haven’t talked much about gay stuff

There’s a few reasons, really.

First, I’ve talked about it a lot already.

Like, a lot. Like, if you’re gay, I think that’s probably how you found me. If you’re not gay, you’re probably indirectly gay from how much I’ve talked about it.

I wrote about my first gay relationship, and girls just smell better. Read that here.

I wrote about some advice for church-going baby gays, because I was one. Read that here.

I interviewed my first girlfriend about finding love and hiding love and losing love, and it was really sweet. Listen to that here.

I interviewed my current girlfriend about labels and why we hate them but want them. Listen to that here.

I made a video for Kristina that I have literally never shown anyone except her. I made it for her one day with footage I had laying around after I realized how much I film her, because I think she’s the most pretty. I just watched it again. It’s really, really special to me — not because it’s good (beware - it’s not), but because it’s a little glimpse of us. It’s unlisted, but you’re my fam, so enjoy. You can watch that here.

So, yeah. I’ve made a lot of things about it. Things I’m really proud of, and things that sometimes make me feel like I’ve said it all. But there’s more to it.

Next, I haven’t talked about it much because I don’t want it to be all of who I am.

My sexuality is a part of me. It is not all of me. I don’t want to be a “gay writer” or “gay podcaster” or “gay _____” because it makes me feel smaller than I am. Not because “gay” but because label. Besides being gay, I’m also kind. But could you imagine if all I ever wrote about was being kind? How to be kind. Why you should be kind. Why being kind is the best way to be. When I knew I was the most kind. What to do when I’m not feeling kind. It would get old, for the reader and the writer, and I’d become “the kind girl.”

I try hard not to over-identify with any one thing because it makes me feel less like me — a dynamic, changing, multi-traited person.

That said, I love talking about it. I know it’s important to — I know it’s helpful and it matters and it helps you and me and all of us feel a little less alone. I just don’t want to talk about… only that, you know?

Lastly, I’m still figuring out how to be gay.

This is true. I literally don’t know. Probably the least comfortable I feel is when I’m with other gay people — I don’t feel gay enough, or like I’ve been through enough “gay stuff” to be a voice for us all. It’s very, very weird that’s a real fear of mine, but it is. I have lots of friends who are professional gays, and I’d trust them with all of my gay questions and problems. But I don’t feel like that — I feel like I’m still figuring it all out.

I don’t know what I label myself as. I say “gay'“ in this post because it’s easy, not because it perfectly fits.

I don’t know if I find men or women more attractive. It feels obvious to say, “it depends on the person.” But it does.

I don’t know if I feel fully confident out in public with a girl yet. Actually — I do know how I feel about that — somedays it’s easier than others. I don’t know how I feel about how I feel, though.

I don’t know anything about gay culture. I don’t know which celebrities are gay, or who the true gay icons are.

I don’t know huge gay moments in history. Gay literature. Gay activists. Gay issues.

I very much still feel like a baby gay. Like I’m still quietly peeking out from inside the closet, just barely entering the rest of the room. I don’t know how to be gay, but I’m… trying?

When in doubt, weave it in

So. Instead of big soap boxy posts where I pretend to be certain about all the things gay-life has to offer, I have taken a stance that feels more realistic to me. Like I do any other topic, I weave in the gay naturally.

When I talk about my Saturdays, I also talk about Kristina and how cute she is.

When I talk about Love Island and The Bachelor and all the glorious TV I love, I point out that I kinda like everyone — maybe the girls more? Who knows.

When I talk about hard things, I talk about coming out.

When I talk about life, I weave it in. It’s a part of the picture — not the whole thing, but a part, and a part that I love.

So, yeah. That’s why I didn’t make a “fully gay post” this time around.

Talk tomorrow, 
Your friend, 
Taryn

Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

we've all got junk drawers

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.

I donated everything I own.

Juuuuust kidding. I wish though — I'd love to be one of those "give everything away because possessions mean nothing and the joy of giving is greater than anything you've felt through buying something" type of people but I truly, deeply am not. I love things. 

I own so much stupid shit. Like, truly. I bought a mini-skateboard because Zac Efron was somehow tied to the company. I have the DUMBEST trinket from Shark Tank, that you stand on and twist and then you get abs, clearly. I have rollerblades that you strap on to your shoes.... for... all the times I'm going to go rollerblading. Duh. 

I also keep so much stuff. T-shirts from high school. Letters from exes. Books I've never read but should definitely read and bought them to force myself to read them but we all know I will not read them. 

I buy stuff. I keep stuff. So yes, I have a lot of stuff. But I'd never want you to know that. I've written about this before, actually — how I keep my room pretty tidy, so if you walked in you'd think, "wow, she's clean!" But do. not. open. a. drawer. It's chaos. Madness. Every drawer is stuffed with stupid purchases and weird keepsakes. Every drawer is a junk drawer. 

That was Taryn pre-Friday. Now I'm Monday Taryn, and Monday Taryn spent her whole weekend cleaning like my life depended on it. I couldn't stand the mess anymore. I couldn't stand the double-little life I was running — clean on the outside, chaos on the inside. It was exhausting and felt sneaky and like I was tricking people around me.

(Obviously, this a metaphor for life and how most of us want it to look like we have it together but there is actually so fucking much happening beneath the surface, and instead of dealing with the shit, we shove it behind the books and under the other stuff and hide every little baby string that might pop out and make us look messy or out of line in any way.)

So. I was over it. My friend/angel Jenn (who loves to clean) came over EVERY DAY this weekend to help me purge, and it was pure magic, and it ended in donating 10 trash bags full of stuff that I really, really don't need. It felt and feels amazing — I've been smiling like a kid in my bedroom. It doesn't look too much different on the outside, but there's the deepest sense of joy knowing that if my roommates walked in and opened a drawer, no one would cringe. It's lit in there. Everything has its place. The calm on the outside matches the calm on the inside. It feels so good to know that.

Moral of the story: Don't be scared of the junk drawer — we all have one. Or two. Or ten. Don't try to hide it. See it for what it is — stuff that's better confronted than pushed aside. Stuff that deserves to see the light of day. Stuff that should be worked through with someone you love.  Stuff that shouldn't make you insecure, but should motivate you to change and do better. It's just stuff. Look at it, thank it, and let it go.

Talk tomorrow, 
Your friend, 
Taryn

Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

the sky is nice up here, just you wait — the daily taryn # 17

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.

I do some of my best thinking on planes, likely out of survival. If I’m not 100% distracted, I’m a mess up there. Here’s what I was thinking about on one of my last flights.

Prepare for take off

Have you ever flown on a bad day? It’s gloomy or raining or snowing or the sky just feels weird and you’re positive the plane will enter a cloud and never come out. Beside the weather, you’re just having a day. Maybe it’s what you’re leaving, or what you’re flying to. You’re sitting on the tarmac, smushed against a stranger who’s waiting to open their crusty hamburger, watching the guys in reflective jackets load hundreds of bags of too many outfits, and you’re just not having it.

You half listen to the safety briefing thinking “what if this is the one time I really need to listen and I don’t?” so you kinda pay attention, but not nearly enough to stay calm if something actually happens. You take off and your town gets smaller and smaller and smaller until you pretend you know what highway that is but we all know you don’t. The sky is dark and weird and you’re feeling dark and weird as you get closer to it. The plane is shaking and bouncing and people are trying their hardest to not look afraid, but if you look close enough, everyone’s a little on edge (except the 60 year old woman already snoring through her romance novel — how the hell do these people get to sleep so fast???).

Don’t like this one bit, but it doesn’t matter — you’re along for the ride no matter what. You have to be.

If you’re like me, at this point you’re quietly praying “please stop the turbulence. please stop the turbulence.”

And then, just then

You and your headphones and the other 175 people in this pencil with you shoot out from the other end of the cloud and it’s perfect out. It’s perfectly blue. The sky is gorgeous. The plane is perfectly still. You’re actually, literally, floating above the clouds. As far as your little window let’s you be, it’s blue and magic and clear and warm.

Twenty seconds ago, you were doom and gloom, because that’s all you knew. Just on the other side of those clouds below you are heaps and heaps of people who think today is a crappy rainy day. A crappy rainy week. A crappy rainy year. They’re covered in rain. Their hair, ruined. There new raincoat is proving not to be rainproof.

But in this moment, you know the truth. You know that it’s really, really pretty up here. It’s actually kinda breathtaking.

It’s nice up here. I promise. Just you wait.

If you haven’t caught on to this metaphor, let me be blatant — this is a lot like life. No matter how rainy and windy and grey and weird your day is, you can trust and know that it will and does get better. It’s always sunny somewhere. It’s always clear somewhere. And it will be clear and warm and calm for you again soon.

Just you wait and see.

—

Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

you are who you want to be

This post was originally written in 2013 on a website that had an audience of one (me). It actually still holds up, so I sent it to my subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.

On my way to work this morning, I was thinking about how weird it is that no two people are the same. I know it’s common sense, but it’s pretty fuckin’ weird. There are so many people, but not two of anyone.

You are you. Yay. But what makes you you? Everything, really.

A bit of everything

You’re the place you were born. The way you were raised. The good qualities from your parents. The bad qualities from your parents. The best days. The weird days. The kinda forgettable days. The nights you stayed up laughing with friends or having sex with someone you really super love. You’re your ex, and the ex before that ex, and the boy you chased around the playground in 6th grade. You’re the tennis trophies and report cards and birthday parties and trips abroad. You’re every experience and memory and lover and challenge — you’re a piece of it all.

Inherently you

You’re a mix of all the things that you’ve done and read and seen and experienced, but you’re also a mix of things that are inherently you — independent of everything else. You’re the traits that have followed you from childhood to adulthood. You’re the kid who “always danced through the movie credits,” so your mom says. The class clown. The one who looks for the lonely people. The scaredy-cat. The one who feels like they’re meant for something bigger. The one who has always felt secretly psychic. Or not enough. Or who always wins board games, because you have no idea how you got this competitive, but you just are. You are what you just are.

You are who you want to be

My favorite part about who you are is that you’re exactly who you want to be at any given moment. If you wanted to be anything other than what you are, you’d go be it. Don’t want to be a smoker? Stop smoking. Want to be a kinder person? Start being kind.

You — the person that you are — is not set in stone. You can be who you want to be. You might hate the way you were raised. Be embarrassed of your weight. Think you’re made for better. Know you’re made for the best. You might wish you weren’t this way, or that way. Wish you were more like the people you admire. You might be dating someone who has qualities you’ve always wanted. You might have friends you don’t want — you know they’re making you worse.

I have the best news for you: you can change who you are. Maybe not the color of your eyes or the shit you’ve experienced or the memories of the worst days in the world — no, you can’t change everything.

You can’t change who you’ve been, but you can change who you are. You can change who you’ll be.

—

Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

10 tips on mastering awkward social situations — the daily taryn #8

This post was originally written in 2013 on a website that had an audience of one (me). It actually still holds up, so I sent it to my subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.



People are hard.

I have been in many social situations lately where I’ve been thrust into the feeding frenzy of meeting new people. Very few people, even those who categorize themselves as extroverts, thrive on meeting new people and mingling. Even if I don’t LOVE it, I’ve been told I handle myself quite well in these situations, likely because I have base-level manners and like to make others feel welcomed.

Through these countless situations, I’ve kept a mental note of things we do (consciously and unconsciously) that make us seem arrogant, uninterested, or just plain mean. The beauty of this comprehensive list is that it’s applicable to all types of people: introvert, prom king, hip hop dancer, milk man, and the class clown. This list also covers all types of stranger interactions, from waiting in line at Chipotle to accompanying a friend to a party where you quickly become the lone wolf.

Alas, 10 simple steps to handling social situations and being nice(r) to strangers:

1. First of foremost — ALWAYS remember that this social interaction (shopping at Nordstroms, sitting at a restaurant, being in an airplane, etc.) has an end point and will not take up the rest of your life. 

If you truly remember that, you’ll be more apt to give each interaction your full attention. The chances you see some of these people again are minuscule  and the only way people will remember you will be if you had a positive or negative interaction. Give people the attention they deserve. This too shall pass. 

2. Keep a smile on hand at all times. 

Many people enter rooms with faces that reflect their fear of interaction, with a scowl or absolutely no emotion at all. If you prepare your smile prior to walking through a door, it’s equipped and ready to be contagious. Who wants an unknown grump to walk into their home? Nobody. But who wants that smiling person? ME.

3. Be the first to introduce yourself. 

Everyone knows the harrowing feeling of standing in a group of 3-5 people while most of them know each other — except you. Stop wondering who will be the only nice one in the group to introduce themselves —DO IT FIRST. An easy lead in? “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m _____.” Done. Tension broken.

4. Shake peoples hands (or hug if you’re feeling CRAZY). 

Don’t do the TERRIBLY AWKWARD FOR EVERYONE gesture where you literally wave at each other from 5 feet away. MOVE YOUR FEET PEOPLE.

5. Eye contact. Make it. 

I don’t know when exactly the turning point is in life, but people now refuse to look into each others eyes. Do you know how much more strife you bring into the situation if you’re the shifty-eyed weirdo who can’t look into the eyes of the person in front of you? I mean, don’t burn a hole in their retina with your unlocked stare, but look people in the eyes because it shows that you’re interested in what they are saying, even if it’s the guy at chipotle asking “brown or white.”

6. Put down the phone. 

I am 100% guilty as charged with this one. In uncomfortable situations, we are first to whip out our phones like we’re expecting POTUS to call- obsessing over our missed calls or any possible text conversations we can muster up. When you have your phone out, you’re basically telling everyone around you that you’re uninterested. Put it away- you’re not that important and you’re missing out on the conversations you could be having with real people that are constantly around you.

7. Be the first to ask questions (this goes for introverts too). 

Imagine you’re in a group of 4 and 2 of the people are in a conversation, where you quickly find you and the other person literally watching a conversation happen. Start one of your own! If you are uncomfortable talking about yourself, what better way to avoid it than ask questions about the other person. A technique I often use is what I like to call the Interview Technique: ask where they’re from, what they do, and what they did earlier today. It’s a triple whammy- you learn about someone new (and make them feel valuable while doing so!), you don’t have to talk about yourself, and you get to brush up your interviewing skills.

8. Laugh. Even if it’s not funny. 

The worst thing that happens in casual/quick conversations is when the other person, while talking, starts to laugh at something they say. You have no clue what’s happening or why they think it’s funny, but you cut the tension in half if you join them in giggling. This also goes for when you’re in line waiting for Chipotle and the coocoo lady in front of you makes some weird comment (to herself), laughs (at herself), and then suddenly includes you in her one-sided convo by looking at you. JUST SMILE OR GIGGLE OR SOMETHING. Quick.

9. Compliment people instead of judging them. 

This happens far more than it should. Some girl walks into the room and you immediately scowl because you’re jealous of how pretty she looks in that indie dress that you think you could never pull off. Of course, she ends up walking right past you and you don’t notice that you’re still scowling at her. She looks up, sees your face of disapproval and “screw you” and keeps walking. Interaction over- and it was terrible. COMPLIMENT HER DRESS! Stop being selfish! When she walks by, stop her and comment on how much you love her dress. Girls can be friends too! Who knew.

10. Lay down your too-cool pride. 

I believe that 100% of interactions (with friends, family, or strangers) can be improved by laying down your pride. Stop thinking that you deserve to be approached- approach people. Take off the blank look on your face that says you don’t really want to be here- smile. Don’t wait to be spoken to- speak. Engage. Create the positive interactions that you want to happen for you, because you’ll notice that once you reach out and initiate, even if you had to do it, the interaction is already worthwhile. Sure, you have to laugh at a few jokes that you don’t really enjoy, but you made somebody’s day. Put down the phone, smile, and make a new friend.

Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.

"do what you love and you'll never work a day..." — the daily taryn #7

This post was originally written for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so. Love u.

We've all heard this quote: "Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life." 

This quote is:
1. Responsible for a lot of people feeling like they haven't found the right job. Or passion. Or partner. 
2. Encouraging, sometimes. You might find comfort in the fact that someday, you'll find a job that you'll love so much, it won't feel like work. Sounds like magic, doesn't it? For work to not feel like work?
3. In my opinion, deeply wrong, and sorta damaging.

I've had so many jobs I've loved. I've taught tennis to kids. I've been a writer and reporter for a teen magazine. I now write and work on creative ideas for a creative company that I love. And ya know what? It always feels like work. And ya know why? Because.... it's.... work. It's your job. It's supposed to feel like work. 

Just because something feels like work doesn't mean it's not something worth loving. It's fun to work, and it's really fun to work hard. It's that much better when you're working hard at something you love. 

I get what the quote was going for — it's important to love what you do. But never working a day in my life? How fucking boring. 

Like, think about a relationship. You can really, really love someone and the relationship still requires hard work. I mean sure, don't work hard at a relationship with a person you don't love, but gosh — work as hard as possible with a person you do love. Somedays, it'll be hard to keep the relationship awesome. Somedays, it'll be so tough it actually feels harder than the job that gets you paid. But again — it doesn't mean it's not the "right" person for you. Just because something is hard or "feels like work" doesn't mean it's worth canning. 

Okay, end rant. 

Hi. I can't believe you read this — it actually means the world to me. Now that you're on a roll of making me happy, I'd like to give you 2 options to keep the fun going. 1) If you'd share this with someone or a feed of someones, or 2) you joined my newsletter. If that's not your thing, I'll love you regardless, but I'll do some middle school love letter journaling about you if you do either. Head here to join my list of gorgeous subscribers.