Repeatedly when I was at a previous job, a person I didn’t know very well came from another department to do his regular mansplaining to my female coworker. I often listened in to the conversation. Essentially the conversations would go like this: He would get her to make a definitive statement on a controversial topic by saying something extreme that she has to disagree with. Then, he would pigeon-hole her with “Well, actually!” facts.

One day, he noticed that I was sitting there and introduced himself. He told me that he liked a shirt or something else that I was wearing, and I said, thanks, I got it used. His response, Well actually if you are privileged to have enough money to buy new clothes, you should buy new clothes. You are taking away resources and good options for poor people. I shrugged and said, Well actually, there are more used clothes than you can count out there as people start to give more and more to thrift stores. Switching to thrift can help you avoid buying clothing from companies that use sweatshops and can change the market of new clothing. He backtracked and tried to make another argument about how my thrifting wouldn’t make a difference because I am only one person. My single action would do nothing to help the cause, (to which I rolled my eyes, internally). I guess we should never make positive choices then because what’s the use? Finally, he trailed off and congratulated me on arguing so well with him. And changed the subject to talk to my coworker again.

This post is not actually about his mansplaining; it’s about thrifting. When I was a kid, my family would often shop at thrift stores to get new clothes because it was what we could afford. I went through a phase where I was embarrassed by this, especially as some of my friends could afford going to Denver to get clothes from the prestigious, expensive stores of Cherry Creek. I remember one friend told me that she never bought anything from Ross or TJ Maxx because it was basically used considering the amount that it had been tried on. I chose not to tell her that I did actually own quite a few used clothes.

But thrifting was a lot of fun, so I also went through phases where it provided great family memories.

One time, a new thrift store opened up in town called ARC. It was a thrift store from which proceeds benefited The ARC an organization for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. When we first visited ARC, it was a gold mine. You walk into the seemingly discordant store with fluorescent lights, old people smell, and awful tiling. You would walk out with six shirts from Abercrombie & Fitch (so hot in the 90s), several new chapter books like the fascinating Sweet Valley High series, and maybe a new lamp to decorate our bedroom! All for under $15! Tell me that’s not an exciting prospect as a kid! We left that store as a family, giddy with our finds from our $100 shopping spree to go home to sort through our treasures and put on a fashion show! To those of you that think this sounds sad because we didn’t get new fancy clothes, you would have a job convincing me and my sisters when we were kids.

It became even more easier to be a thrifter when the fantastic Plato’s Closet came to town. Oh my. Now I could guarantee I could get brand name clothes and they still cost a fraction of the original price. Nothing was more exciting than a “grab-bag” sale at Plato’s Closet where 1 bag of clothes cost $10 and a customer could fit nearly 40–50 items in each bag if they were an expert packer. From then on, when people would compliment my clothes, I would proudly say Thanks! I got it used! To which they would marvel or awkwardly look away depending on how truly impressed by the outfit they were or how much they were faking the compliment.

And sure I suppose tribute should be made to Macklemore with his hit Thriftshop. It did indeed raise awareness of the millennial and hipster gravitation towards thrift shopping.

But there are real benefits to Thrifting that I want to talk about. Especially as we have access to the amazing ThredUp online thrift store, it is easy to implement thrifting into our lives. Here are some immediate benefits to thrifting:

1. Good for the environment. ThredUp just released a recent study which said that “over 1/3 of women wear an item less than 5 times before getting rid of it”. They say that buying something used “extends its life on average by 2.2 years”. I will never be able to build a capsule wardrobe , and overall I despise the minimalist movement for its lack of creativity. So what’s an environmentally-conscious person to do? Extend the life of previously discarded items by wearing them myself.
2. Good for your pocketbook. I don’t think this really needs saying but used items are much cheaper than original items. Of course they certainly last less time than new items, but I find people grow out of their style or change sizes anyway and need to change it up every few years. Thrifting helps me feel as though I am buying new things, while not affecting my pocketbook adversely. Side effect: After thrifting for several years, walking into a non-used clothing store will have you gasping at how expensive everything is!
3. Good to combat the sweatshop industry. I am not a saint. I have purchased clothing from H&M and Forever 21 which use slave labor to make their clothing. And I am not going to lie, the reason is that I cannot afford Fairtrade shirts that cost $150. Sure, I am proud of the work they are doing, but the reason that I shop at H&M or Forever 21 is because $10 is more my speed on my non-profit salary than that amazing new top. So how do I mitigate my guilty conscious? I thrift! The clothes may have originally come from a sweatshop, but buying them used stops the market from producing more and more unnecessary clothing.
4. Good for fashion. I wasn’t alive when bell-bottoms went out the first time, but I was alive when they came back! Sure they have slightly different characteristics, but fashion is certainly cyclical. Thrift stores foster this cyclical nature of fashion and allow you access to new trends and ideas. I am not much of a brand fanatic, but I love knowing that the item that I might never see anyone else wear. The way to get around the problem of, ohmygod she is wearing the same dress is me is to buy it used because there is a very slim chance that they have the same dress as you! (Bought my prom dress used, looked fantastic)
5. Good for other causes. Often, thrift stores use their profits to support another cause (e.g. The Salvation Army, Goodwill, The ARC). When I buy an item, the money gives back to important institutions which support under-served causes.

So if thrifting is so great, why do people not thrift?

1. Its so overwhelming. One time, after hearing that my item came from a thrift store, a woman said to me oh you know I could never do thrifting. Too much to sort through! I suppose that is a problem if an individual struggles with the lackadaisical nature of the modern thrift store, but to me, the hunt is half the fun. There is nothing better than landing on a product that has been completely underpriced for what it is and snatching it up before anyone notices. (Totally did this with an Ethan Allen dresser that I got for $15- originally $2,000 because the store wanted it off their hands.) However, this struggle can be real. Sometimes the chaotic nature of the thrift store can make a person want to walk out instantly rather than take the time to find something awesome. Solution: Go in with a plan and stick to your plan. If you are coming in for a new top, only look at tops and stick to your sizes. Also ThredUP gives you the chance to filter through items by color, size, or type.
2. I’m not good at fashion. Some individuals struggle with having to create their own outfits from thrifted items. It’s nice in department and boutique stores to walk in and find dozens of mannequins dressed in possible outfit choices where a customer can mimic the ideas with their carefully curated color line. Solution: I often glance through a rack and look for patterns or colors that I feel connected to. Generally, if you feel connected to it, you already have similar items in your closet to this item and it will be easy to pair. Also, don’t be afraid to try things on or be prepared to lose money on the items. Not all places like ThredUp have a great return policy.
3. It’s just so unclean. People also do really struggle with the concept of used clothing. If an individual worries about the cleanliness of items, particularly of shoes, there are ways to clean them. Solution: Clean the items! Here is a great site that gives buyers good ideas on how to clean items bought from a thrift store.

Please, please consider going to a thrift shop next time you want to up your wardrobe for the season or find a cool household gadget! I bet you will find something amazing.

A note on men. Men, you will probably have trouble finding options, but they are out there! I think men often do not buy clothes as frequently as women leading there to be less of a desire to buy used because they want fresh items. I completely understand that, but there are options out there: Like Grailed. This article also explains how easy it is for men to thrift shop.

*ThredUp and other thrift stores did not compensate me for any of the comments therein.

My Grandfather’s backyard was about 2 acres. It was a huge plot full of various terrain, buildings, and creatures. He used a complex system to water his garden at the front of the yard with well water collected from the ditch water at the back of the yard. He dug little trenches and created a tributary system to carry water through the yard to water his plants.

This was probably the most exciting feature of my Grandfather’s house. There were endless activities at that house, but playing with the mini-rivers was the most fun. My sisters and I would send different things down the river, then race to watch it flow around the bends and curves. We would send messages to each other in mini leaf-boats.

The best times were when we found crawdads. Crawdads, or crawfish (or crayfish), are clawed animals with permanently shocked faces. They are generally brown, tan, or red, and they frequent smaller streams and tributaries. We were probably horrible to them. Poking at them, picking them up (if we were brave enough), putting them in places that they had probably never been. This might explain why the crawdads have permanently shocked faces.

The crawdads would slowly shut down and accept their fate. (Come to think of it, this was pretty similar to how our cats behaved when we would play games with them.) It was the most fun to see if we could build boats for the crawdads and send them down the river, but they never seemed to want to stay on.

I hadn’t thought about crawdads in years, until one of my friends wanted to host his birthday at a crawfish boil at a brewery in Virginia. Given that I mostly don’t know about anything that happens out here on the east coast, most people excitedly asked me if I had even heard of a crawdad before. I proudly responded, “Yes, we used to send them on boats down my Grandfather’s irrigation system!” I’m not sure that was the reaction that they were expecting.

I figured out another reason why crawdads might have shocked faces. Perhaps it’s because they are boiled in a creamy butter sauce with tons of vegetables and seasoned. Fortunately, I waited until I was a couple of beers in to get some liquid courage. I walked up to receive my bowl of hard-shelled, shocked crawdads. I sat it down, pretending this was a normal thing that people do all the time, especially me. Sure, I can eat these things! My friends looked down at their bowls excitedly awaiting the prospect of tearing off the heads of my childhood sailor friends. I looked down at my bowl and gagged at the thought.

Let me follow this up with a quick aside story. I have never been good with eating animals that still look like they are animals. I am by no means a vegetarian, and yes, I understand where cows and chickens come from — my grandfather also had chickens that he kept for eggs and, sometimes, butchering on his 2 acres, but I have problems when I feel connected to potentially causing the animal pain. I can’t carve a turkey because I don’t like the grate of the knife on bone. In fact, just this week, we had salmon for dinner, and my fiancé graciously pulled the scaly skin off of my piece so that I could eat it without gagging.

Once in middle school, I went on a French Club excursion to a French restaurant in Berthoud. We had a great time singing “Erbody in the Club gettn Tipsy” in the car ride up, then fun ordering in French like we were fancy people. Then, the fun quickly faded, when I was handed a plate full of les moules (mussels). Everyone had to try at least one. Ugh. I tried. I got it on my plate, but I took one look and saw its beautiful shell and all of its veins, and I nearly threw up on the table. I couldn’t eat the rest of the meal. I didn’t think I was going to make it home. I have since thought I had gotten over the fear, but I still had never had any crab in-shell, lobster, or other shellfish, until this moment.

So back to the story of the crawdads: I attempted to join in on the fun of making the crawdads dance. Then, it was time to figure out how to de-shell it. Dan and one of our friends showed me how to properly pull off its head, tear off its legs, and crack the shell; all for a small bite of meat (hopefully, you get around the poop-line.)

So my first attempt began. I yanked off the head as delicately as I could with a little statement of apology to the little guy (So sorry this is your fate, Abe…and yes, I did name them). I squirmed, then I began to pull his legs off, which felt like it might start kicking me at some point. Then, it came time to break the shell. At this point, it no longer looked at me with sadness in his eyes for agreeing to such a barbaric practice, because his head was in another bowl facing the other direction. Therefore, it was a little easier to not be so squeamish.

My hands shook trying to break the strong shell. I gave up quickly. That’s it, if I was meant to eat this, then the shell would break easier. Dan gave me tips on how to break the shell. Then, the half-a-crawdad shot out like a grenade from my hands, down my lap, and on to the ground. Both Dan and I burst out laughing as I squirmed away. I quickly looked up to make sure that none of our friends could tell that clearly this was not a normal thing that I do all the time. Fortunately, everyone was happily beheading their crawdads and wrapped up in conversation. I looked down at my bowl and slowly started pulling off the head of another friend (Pam).

random words: Crawdad, grenade*

*All auto-biographical stories are written based on 2–3 words that I find on a random word generator and my reminiscent thoughts about embarrassing things I have done.

This is a satirical article I wrote after reading some body-positivity articles and noticing how the same concept can be applied to photos of over-minimalist spaces on Pinterest.

It’s a Pinterest-obsessed kind of day. And we have news for you: It might just be easier than it appears to show off that “cozy home office” look.

We spoke with interior designer, Wilma Petty, who proved that designer bloggers’ impressively cute and clean displays can be as easy as cleaning up your room.

In a recent post about designer myths on her blog, Adecorable!, Petty portrays the inaccuracies that are rampant on social media. Instead of taking carefully manicured photos after hours of clean-up, these photos were taken to show what the room looked like for weeks before.

“I got the idea to dispel the rumors after watching HGTV while furiously pinning cozy home office décor pics and articles. They say decorate this way and you’ll be organized for weeks, but it’s just not true,” said Petty.

So how does Petty normally make her pictures so neat and organized? It comes down to thorough and lengthy, well…cleaning!

It’s so simple to look at those pictures on interior design blogs, and think, ‘Why don’t I have that?’ or ‘How do these people always seem so organized?’ The reality is, they just clean the room right before they take the picture. They never keep a clean house regularly!”

She admits that she doesn’t always have a clean room, explaining she’s been everything from messy to immaculate (she threw away everything in her office one day out of exhaustion-she regretted this come tax season). But over the past few moments, she has dedicated her life to being organized and cozy.

“I’ve worked to get my office organized and feel happy in my space, so that I don’t look at it every Monday morning and hate it, “ she said. “I designed others’ spaces to help other people have the best office they want, not the office that others choose for them.”

The reality is that if you’re not dedicated to organization and cleaning (and perhaps don’t have the genes to support it), it’s almost impossible to look like the images on Pinterest and in magazines.

“Just because someone at work posts a picture on Instagram showing how they organized their office, doesn’t mean you will organize your office. You’re never going to be them because you’re you, and you may not have the organizational personality” Petty explained.

At 47, Petty has noticed the pressures on home décor intensify over the years. “Growing up, my mom always had to make the house look nice. Now that I am older and social media exists, my friends and I feel that we have to organize the house ourselves,” said Petty.

But with the right lighting and thorough amount of cleaning, you can still take the perfect cozy home office staged photo. Petty has simple tricks for anyone who has confidence to show off the inside of the place that they “work from home”:

1. Change the Lighting. Petty says instead of showing how you generally are too lazy to turn on the light until it gets too dark in the room, light a mood candle or place strategic lamps to flood your space in bright, clean light. Or try opening the curtains and letting in some natural light!
2. Clean your desk. It’s important to find an angle that shows off how much time you spent cleaning your office. So make sure that all those things that were on your desk that you shoved off for the photo aren’t still in the frame, she explained. For Petty, it’s about flaunting her modern sleek desk, but she encourages others to decide what they love most about their office and highlight it! In the first picture, she shows that the stack of books in front of her desk do not capture the cute stylized edge of the furniture and also show how she never puts her books away.
3. Flex your organizational muscles. In the first picture, Petty shows a potential for a good organization system in the filing cabinet next to her desk, but she admits that the papers on top have meant to be filed for months! And those receipts, they were supposed to be shredded in the 90s. In the second, she put the files in the correct order in the filing cabinet and color-coded all her markers to create a clean landscape.
4. The props do matter. Just like in professional photo shoot, it’s necessary to use props from other parts of your house that you never use in your office. Petty says that she pulled a knit blanket from her kid’s bed to put over the chair and make it seem like she has a cozy throw, rather than just a black office chair. Now that she has seen the look, she thinks she’ll keep the throw there. (Don’t worry, her kid still has sheets on her bed)
5. Filter it. Filters can completely alter how your office looks in the final result. Use blurred edges for areas where you didn’t feel like cleaning. Petty urges against over-cleaning when you can help it. The photos should look natural, if a bit staged.
6. Be confident. Petty says she takes the best photos when she’s feeling good. So she always drinks copious amounts of coffee to give her that cleaning bug and feel confident she can finish the work before taking the photo. It’s more important to feel confident and happy and proud with the progress you’re making, wherever you are in your decorating journey, she explains. So, she promotes regular breaks every five minutes for cookies.

For Christmas, Dan, my fiancé, bought me an Everlast Notebook by Rocketbook. I know what you might be thinking, Ugh Mariah just sold out! She’s only a few posts in and she’s already peddling products. Why would I want to read an extended Amazon review? Well, I don’t blame you for thinking that, but I did feel that I needed to give some mad props to the Rocketbook start-up. You can skip and come back next week for my fiction write, or you can read on to hear how you can save the environment from all your worthless thoughts.

Two weeks ago, the non-profit I work for brought out the recycling and shredder containers. My co-workers hauled out notebooks upon notebooks of notes they had taken at meetings, ideas they had, and old to-do lists to recycle. I thought about it, and I couldn’t judge. Since working for this company, I had already been through 3 executive notebooks in the last 9 months. These notebooks are mostly now worthless to me, some of the more stellar pages included this:

But with Everlast, I can keep all of these amazing things, or I can erase them while not killing any harmless trees! Everlast has plastic pages which each contain a grid of dots, 7 symbols, and a QR code. Each Everlast notebook can be written on with FriXion Pens by Pilot which are erasable because they have “thermochromic” ink. Their website explains everything in great deal. But here is the basic gist:

Step 1: I go to a meeting and write a down a worthless thought that I am certain I am going to need very soon:

I categorize this note by coloring in the circle at the bottom of the page.

Step 2: I download and open Rocketbook App, and I make sure my destinations are correctly attributed.

Step 3: I decide whether or not I actually want to keep this really worthwhile page that tells me I should get stuff done…Hmm, alright, I have decided that I might need to remember to get stuff done in the future so, I use the document scanner to scan the page in entirety. I change the name of the document to a more searchable title, and send!:

Step 4: What if I think, Nah, I think I am going to remember that I need to get stuff done. Okay just erase using water and the awesome cloth that comes with the notebook:

Wow! Now, I can start over with a new amazing thought on the same page!

Okay, so now I have made a plan to save at least 300 pieces of paper a year, and try to make Mother Nature cry a little less.

I use my Everlast for so many things at work, or as a bullet journal, or as a sketchbook, since I don’t care too much about my medium:

Basically, this godsend, (and please, don’t tell my fiancé that I said that. He might think I am calling him a god and that would go to his head), is going to save me money and awful indecision a year from now when I can’t think of whether I need those notes are not, while also saving the environment from having to deal with the ten million notes that I took in this world that probably aren’t worthy of existence.

My co-workers have already looked into buying it to replace their normal, boring notebooks.

The Everlast notebook can be bought off their website while also contributing $1 to AdoptAClassroom.org. I have already looked up AdoptAClassroom.org, and they seem to be a stand-up organization. They contribute donations to teachers to buy school supplies. They do not have any overhead from this donation; the $1 will actually go to a teacher somewhere. If you care about Charity Navigator ratings, they have 4 stars. You can also buy off of Amazon.

Overall, great job Rocketbook! I’ll be watching you for more great ideas.

• By the way, Rocketbook has not compensated me in any way for this endorsement of their product. They actually don’t know I am writing this review at all!*

Thanks for reading!

When Dan (my fiancé) and I were in London, we went on a Jack the Ripper walking tour. The tour guide, friendly and engaging, spoke to each of his participants in turn as he led us from place to place. He turned to Dan and I at one point and asked what we did for work. He was looking at me, so I offhandedly gave a quick answer. I work at a nonprofit. I should know better at this point. That always leads to the next question. He looked intrigued. After making a joke about nonprofits not being profitable, he asked What do you work on?

Oh dear. Maybe, if I speak fast enough, he won’t be able to understand me and will be too polite to ask me to repeat it. I work on hate crimes and incidents. I mumbled quickly. Hate crimes? He responded. Oh shoot. He had heard me.

Yeah. Interesting stuff. Dan, my fiancé, he does software development! I said that clearly and with great infatuation as I pull him into the limelight. But, alas! The tour guide, for whatever reason ignored my attempt to change the conversation. He genuinely wanted to talk about hate crimes.

You as my reader, might think at this point, Why is she so ashamed or bashful about speaking about her work? Oh, no, I am not. Not at all. I am very interested in my work. It’s not necessarily what I saw myself working on when I came to the DC area, but working on hate incidents is incredibly important and timely.

Also, I do not suffer from the rolled-eyed behavior of many DC area residents who tire of the question, What do you do for work?* No, the only reason I struggle with this question, is that it immediately sobers the conversation.

Imagine this: I am at a happy hour for a networking event meeting a group of people I do not know. Someone asks the question, What do you do? The first individual responds that they work at the Department of Defense conducting financial audits. The second individual responds that they work as a private consultant. Then me, I work at a nonprofit. They ask Oh! Which one? I work at The Leadership Conference Education Fund. Most people next ask, Oh what issue do you work on? Okay fine. I work on hate incidents.

And here we were having a great conversation, laughing about the recent “wind day” or cheerfully abusing our latest, delayed metro trip, and everyone is reminded that horrible people exist in the world that feel justified in calling people awful, bigoted terms and assaulting them. These horrible people don’t just exist, but they are prevalent enough to have multiple people, organizations, and departments devoted to preventing these people from attacking others.

Their faces fall. They peer into their glasses and move their straws around to see if they need another drink. Or they look shocked and speechless.

Meanwhile in the questioner’s mind, wages an internal battle. I can’t ignore or skip over what she just said, because this is serious, and hate crimes should be talked about. But it would be so great if she never brought this up at all. I kind of just want to talk about the new pop-up bar**. I just want to have a good time tonight and not constantly be concerned with all the bad stuff that is happening. Especially lately, I haven’t read the news all day today because I am afraid of what I might find, and you know what? I just can’t — everything is so hard to hear! But I should be a good person. I mean she does this for her work, so I should probably, really, actually talk about this with her, since I can handle just one conversation. I can’t ignore serious issues that are affecting real people just because I am tired of talking or reading about them!

And there I am as the respondent. I am talking about my work, which I already constantly think about. Sometimes, I enjoy talking about my work on hate crimes because I am in the mood to be angry. But sometimes, I just want to talk about the new pop-up bar, too, because I am also tired.

The good news is, I have developed a bit of a system: no more than two sentences of explanation before changing the subject, and I should always have a new subject in the back of my mind. A response might play out like this: I work on hate crimes and incidents. Then, depending on my audience, it might be appropriate for me to bring up the political climate, but it is not always necessary. Most people I’ve talked to, except those who are white supremacists or who are committing these crimes, think that hate crimes and incidents are awful, no matter their political preferences. They respond to me That must be tough. I nod and say, Yes it is, I read a lot of hate crimes and incidents that happen across our country. It is hard, but important. Don’t worry, I will not treat you to a litany of statistics on how bad hate crimes are around the nation and information about the failed reporting system unless you ask for it.

If people genuinely want to talk about my work, I try to turn the conversation into an ask. If they want to continue talking about it or have additional questions, I tell them about our resources and tools. I talk about how we are solving it, rather than spiraling into a The-World-is-the-Worst conversation. So here is my ask: If you see someone or you, yourself are being targeted for your race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, disability, or ethnicity, report it to our Communities Against Hate website. We have resources at hand to support those affected, legally or otherwise.

My approach is a relatively new attempt to remember that everyone has different mental health capacities to think about hard issues at great length. The person I am speaking with might have just had to work directly with clients who are impacted by improper nutrition, and they just can’t think about another equally important, but hard issue right now. Or perhaps the person has been impacted by a hate incident and wanted to share what happened to them. By allowing my conversant to direct the topic, I don’t put an undue burden on their mental health capacity.

Side notes:

*A note for individuals who have never lived in the DC Area: Residents often grow sick of the question What do you do for work? because it often indicates the questioner’s desire to place the individual culturally and socially based on their perceived power and political party. This WAMU article sums up the potential dangers of the question in the DC area. I can agree with Matt Guttentag, as mentioned in the article. I am sad that the question has this linked cultural implication because it is such an interesting question to ask. There are so many different types of jobs out here with people engaging in important work. Additionally, as the WAMU article mentions, most people come here for a particular kind of work. The question for me gives me a glimpse of what motivates and inspires the individual.

*Which just turned into a Cherry Blossom Festival pop-up bar if you are looking for something to do this weekend: https://popupbardc.com/about/

This is an op-ed. The content herein does not necessarily reflect the values of The Leadership Conference Education Fund or the Communities Against Hate Initiative.

I come from a family of gardeners. My mom keeps rare and beautiful plants. My father grows gigantic, healthy trees. My sister produces an entire garden using her skills working at a greenhouse for much of her high school and college career. I, on the other hand, tried my best to no avail to grow even the most simplest of plants.

It’s not that I don’t like plants. On the contrary, I find plants to be peaceful and full of personality. I actually don’t remember the first plant that I was given that I managed to kill, but I remember the last that ended my short gardening career. In early high school, my older sister, in her attempt to give me the opportunity to become more adept at gardening, gifted me a cacti garden in a large pot. She said, It’s very simple. Cacti and succulents don’t need a lot of attention. She gave me instructions, and that summer I followed them directly.

There were 5 plants in the pot originally. Some fat, some skinny, some full of squishy plant juice, and some poky and acerbic. I loved my little cacti full of their quirks and put them on the perfect shelf next to my window so that they could have some sun, but not too much. Within two days, the first one died. I said No matter and worked on the rest. A few days later, two more died. Slowly, one by one the plants died off in this pot. Now, I had a huge pot of dead cacti sitting next to my bed. An immediate reminder of my black thumb that had smudged out their short existence.

There was one little guy that survived though. My hope held out for this one. With the water and nutrients in the soil no longer trying to keep 5 plants alive, perhaps it could focus properly on just the one. It had started to yellow and lose its lime green color like the others, then it turned around. It started to turn green again. Then, the most odd thing happened, even according to my mom and my sister. A growth appeared on the very top of the plant. It continued to grow and grow. The base of the plant itself did not get any larger, but the growth grew about 4 inches on top of the plant. It was long and thin and delicate. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen! I had nursed this one little plant back to health, and it continued to grow because of me and despite its depressing, dead neighbors. The little offshoot grew at a slant off of the thick, cylindrical base. I protected my little plant and readily bragged about it.

One day, about 2 weeks after the offshoot had started to grow, my 9 year old little sister came into my room to look out the window at something happening in the neighborhood. Before I could give a word of warning and shelter my little plant, she bent over it and the growth broke. It just snapped in half. A little shred of plant skin kept the top of the growth dangling macabrely, hitting the base of the plant. I burst into tears. My work was all gone. My sister apologetically backed out my room and left me to putter around trying to reverse the damage. I knew it wasn’t her fault, and I knew how bad she felt for breaking it.

I kept the pot in my room for another week, watering it lightly and shifting it in and out of the sun dutifully. My hope was that another growth would appear on my little fella, and it would return as a zombie succulent. After the plant started to turn yellow, then brown, then finally black, I decided to retire it. I dumped the depressing plants into the trash as well as my desire to ever plant or keep a damn plant ever again. I now get out of watering plants or receiving them as gifts by telling this story of my idol black thumb and its desire to kill everything living off of photosynthesis. It brings a new meaning to my middle name, Rae, which my mother said reminded her of “rays of sunshine”. Let’s try “rays of death”. I prefer flowers killed for me kept in vases of water for short periods of time.

The last week of the month generally, is a fictional, satirical work. Last year, while job hunting, I came across a job advertisement for, no joke, a Community Cat Coordinator. In my desperation to find a job, I was applying for a lot of things and seeing what would stick. That’s not exactly the best idea by the way. On one occasion, I turned to my boyfriend and said, Community Cat Coordinator, what do you think? He rolled his eyes and promised me that I would get a job. Now that I have a job, I share with you the cover letter I wish I would have sent:

City of Arlington

Arlington, VA

Dear Ms. Neal,

I am applying to the position of Community Cat Coordinator for the city of Arlington. Cats embody the spirit of deep cynicism and volatile behavior, two areas I have devoted myself to for the last few years. With my previous experience in holding cats and knowing when to put them down combined with my aversion to cat-related allergies, I think I would be a valuable asset to the Cat coordination team.

Grounded in cat communications in the sectors of inside and outside of my home, my way of luring cats with cat nip and appropriately applied attention have given me the skills to effectively coordinate any cat. I have 18 years of experience managing and supporting cats in small and large quantities, depending on the will of my mother. While adept at petting cats, I can also feed them, shove shiny things in their faces, and grab their tales as they walk past. In my previous experience, I supported a project to turn an old senile cat into a kitten once more. This complicated project involved many different stakeholders to trap the cat, shove it into a pumpkin costume, and rub catnip all over it’s nose. Throughout my communications to support this initiative, I proved to be highly efficient at procuring timely photos to portray the cat’s sociable side before it leapt into a box and shredded the costume.

I recognize the difficulty that cats feel when they aren’t sure when they want to be petted or want to be left alone. I am highly effective at reading their body language to ascertain if they are wearing an “I’m going to bite you,” or an, “I’m slightly irritated with you, but I will deal with you so long as you keep petting me” face. In these successful projects, I have helped two cats to realize that they actually wanted to be petted, relieving them of their cat-nipped induced confusion. I think that my previous innovative work would prove to be helpful in supporting the community’s cats.

I would appreciate the opportunity to speak with you further about the position, my qualifications, and how I can contribute as a Community Cat Coordinator for the City of Arlington. Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to speaking with you soon.

Warm Regards,

Mariah Brothe

I have been on this amazing confidence high the last few weeks. I got engaged, got a new job, finally started my Medium page, and everything is really amazing right now. I have been in a great mood, and I am certain that my confidence has been radiating out to friends and family.

This week, my fiancé and I went to a bar to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I went up to the bar to get our last round of drinks, and a man approached me. He was much older than me, perhaps twice my age. He asked how I was doing. I gave a curt response, Fine. He continued the conversation asking what game I was playing (it was a board game bar). I shrugged out a half-hearted response. I looked around to see where the bartender had gone. I really didn’t want to have this conversation. He asked what time I thought the bar would close. Probably 1 am? He suggests. I said, sure probably. The bartender was taking forever with the drinks.

Then, he gestures to the side of my face, and says You know that pimple that you have? I have a treatment. Google the… I stared at him in shock. Seriously? That’s your amazing pick-up line? To comment on a blemish that I have on my face? Then try to tell me how to fix it? Fortunately, the female bartender returned and says, Okay I got it then she nods furiously giving me meaningful looks. The woman has saved me. I just walk away without another glance at the man. Later, I gave a larger tip than I would have.

A lot of emotions went through my head after this. Embarrassment that he called out an imperfection that I have. Anger that he felt he could take my time away from me on a fun night. Ashamed that I didn’t behave stronger and put that man in his place.

By all accounts he shouldn’t have affected my emotions at all. I walk away a the same person as when I entered into that conversation, and he walks away as the jerk. Why did I give him that power to influence my mood when his opinion means less than dirt to me? And yet, as I lay in bed, thinking about it, feeling guilty that I didn’t react differently, I was still giving him the power! It was so infuriating.

Here is how I wish the conversation had played out: You know that pimple you have? I have a treatment. Google the… To which I would interrupt, throw my head back, laugh, and say, Oh honey, you really don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t think anyone besides a dermatologist is going to know more about pimple treatment than me. Then, I would walk away still laughing loudly. Why wasn’t that my immediate response?

The entire incident got me thinking about female guilt in light of the power that women have felt over the last few months to respond and push back against men. My situation is not sexual harassment. It’s just a socially inappropriate man trying to talk to me at a bar. I felt guilt over my behavior during this small interaction. But I have also felt guilty after being sexually harassed.

We are in a time where victim blaming is easy. Every story we hear, we accidentally put ourselves in her shoes. Men hopefully are thinking, “Wait. Have I done that?” Women might be thinking (I certainly do), “If a man I was on a date with wanted to have sex, and I wasn’t sure and felt pressured, what would I do?” I have thought, absurdly, something along the lines of, “I am sure that I would have done the right thing and been brave and certain enough to do it.”

But that is so much easier said than done. In my anecdote, what I would have done and what I actually did are two entirely different things. I am sure we all wish we had a time machine for that moment when we realize what we actually should have said or done in an uncomfortable situation.

I have thought more about this deeply over the last few months, and noticed I have definitely made a victim-blaming statement without really thinking about what I was saying. So I have two lessons here I am telling myself for the future as I support women around me and grow myself as a person:

1. Let’s be kinder to our women that are trying to use their time machine to go back to that moment and do the brave thing now, and
2. As women, let’s try to have the confidence to do the brave and certain thing in the moment (when possible, and especially not physically dangerous for us to do so.)

Totally up for a discussion on this. Let me know in the comments if you have a thought you’d like to share.

Do you remember in elementary school when your friends and you would talk about what they were named after? One friend had been named after her grandmother, another after a TV star.

Naturally, everyone assumed I was named after Mariah Carey. She was pretty popular at that time in the mid-90s. I would roll my eyes, and say “No!” Even still, Starbucks baristas have been known to write my name as Mariah Carey on my Starbucks cups and gleefully call it out with a “Mariah Mofiah” or sing some other Mariah Carey song at me before just giving me my damn coffee.

At one point in 2nd grade, I embraced the Mariah Carey fandom. I wanted to feel like a celebrity, so I got one of her CDs and memorized every single song. I would stand on top of my bed and throw my hands out in wild gestures. Whenever she said you, I would throw my hands out and point at an imaginary audience. Whenever she said “me”, I would point back at myself and do a dance. Ultimately, it would just end with me jumping up and down on my bed instead.

But eventually, I learned the true roots of my name. They always told me my name was based on an old song from the 1969 movie “Paint your Wagon” called “They Call the Wind Maria”. As a 6 year old, I found most westerns that my dad liked painfully boring. But, one day he brought the movie home, and it was then that I learned the lyrics to the dreaded song that was the origin of my birth name.

The song is not flattering. Here are the lyrics. Please look up the scene on Youtube of Harve Presnell belting out his misery. They Call the Wind Maria — Paint Your Wagon — Harve Presnell

Away out here they’ve got a name
For rain and wind and fire
The rain is Tess,
The fire’s Joe
And they call the wind Maria

Maria blows the stars around
Sets the clouds a-flyin’
Maria makes
The mountains sound like folks was out there dyin’
Maria (Maria)
Maria (Maria)
They call
The wind
Maria

Before I knew
Maria’s name
And heard her wail and whinin’
I had a gal
And she had me
And the sun
Was always shinin’

But then one day
I left my gal
I left her far behind me
And now I’m lost,
So gol’ darn lost
Not even God
Can find me
Maria
Maria
They call
The wind
Maria

Out here they have a name for rain
And wind…

Welp. Learning that I am the source of all heartbreak isn’t exactly what I had in mind for fame. I mean apparently I can control the wind? That was the coolest thing I could get out of this song. I had a burgeoning hope that I was an undiscovered singing talent, so hearing that folks think my voice sounded like people dying was also not conciliatory. Of course, my parents would remind me of the wail and whinin’ lyric if ever I whined about anything. Plus, I hated wind! Why couldn’t I be the rain or fire or something more exciting?

At one point after a year of my older sister and parents teasing me about this song, I began to embrace the notion of it. What did it matter if the song wasn’t flattering? It was more than my older sister had. There were no famous people I directly knew of with her name. Plus, her name was so common in our city. My name was unique!

I began to act on my dramatic tendencies. At one point I remember forcing my parents to put the song on and then threw myself down on the couch telling people to bring me things because I was famous. “Get me a glass of water!”, “Bring me cookies”. I would play dress-up and pretend that I was the inspiration for the song.

You may be thinking, “Wow, You know, Mariah is really good at turning something that could be negative into a positive situation.” Don’t get so excited. Because just wait until you hear what happened next *insert click bait “next” button*.

When I entered into 4th grade, I went to a magnet school for visual and performing arts. We had a drama teacher, who completely embodied the vibe of Miss Patty on Gilmore Girls, named Dr. T.

Dr. T fancied herself as a playwright. For our 4th and 5th grade class she wrote a musical. The musical wasn’t unique. It was just a chance to force parents to sit through 100 years of disgusting western musical tradition. Among the gems were 76 Trombones and Oklahoma!. I wonder if you can guess where this is going.

Dr. T, purely to ruin my fourth grade year, wrote “They call the wind Maria!” into the musical. You see my family were the only ones who were supposed to know about the awful origins of my name. I never told my friends where the name came from. I would tell them I didn’t know or I would say it was after Mariah Carey.

So imagine my embarrassment when one of the cute 4th grade boys was selected to sing “They call the wind Maria!” during our school play. Oh goodness. My class had a field day. They would giggle and point. My face went beet-red. It was the worst experience.

Then to top it off: I wasn’t even made a lead character! I was named “Sweet Girl #5.” (of 7 by the way) I said one line, and I don’t remember it. I think I was on stage for a total of 5 minutes for the 2 hour and 30 minute musical.

Now, I use my name as a tool for guessing how old you are. If before the story, you guessed I was named after Mariah Carey, you are young/getting old. Congratulations! If before the story, you assumed I was named after the wind, you are over-the-hill old. Congratulations!

Hello! I’m Mariah Brothe. I’m writing a blog. Yes, I have given in. It’s dumb. I don’t even read blogs regularly myself. So why do I think others will read mine? I’ll tell you why! Here is the first and possibly only confident statement that you will hear coming from me: I genuinely believe that there are a lot of other people out there like me.

I have never been a confident person. I have always struggled with this, until I decided to stop being apologetic for my lack of confidence. That’s right. I became confident about not being confident. I get tired of people telling me, “Mariah! Stop! You are so amazing! Don’t sell yourself short!” To that I finally say, “Shut Up! I’ll lack confidence if I want to lack confidence!”

(If you are reading this, and know me and you’re going…”Shit! I’ve totally told her that before! I hope she doesn’t remember, maybe she isn’t talking about me!” Don’t worry…I am talking about you! But that’s okay because you probably don’t suffer from a severe lack of confidence, so I am certain you will bounce back from your momentary embarrassment. Also, I forgive you, and you are an amazing person and helped me to start writing my own posts.)

Yet, in all reality I understand the long-term effects of low self esteem. And so I am here writing to you as a way to both grow my confidence (because I want to! Not because you told me to.) and to maybe help others who are sick of being told that they lack confidence find their voice and come up with things to share/write as well.

My page will have a few sections. The first full week of every month will include a Remember When post in a series called “Way out Here they Got a Name”. These posts will include quippy, fun tales of the dumb things I did when I was a kid, or the weird things that my family does. I want the chance to embarrass my family! And also myself. These stories are written based on a random word generator. I pick two words from a random word generator and create a title and story based on these words.

The next week will include something non-fiction and maybe less fun. I have a number of series in mind including a series on my hometown Greeley which also references public administration, cross-sectoral, and anthropological trends. There might also be some feminism posts. If you are bored by this, skip this week each month. If you came to my page just for this, awesome! I will totally talk about that in future job interviews. I will say that my followers value my contribution that I make to the industry.

The following week will be a bit of a wild card, but always focused on growth/self-help. Sometimes it will be quite serious self-reflection focused on self-help to those who feel as though they need some comforting words. And other times it will be a book review or recommendation on something to read or listen to (I have been podcasting lately). Other times, it might be a casual listicle. It couldn’t be a blog without a listicle section!

The final week in the rotation is going to be so much fun! After two weeks of sometimes quite serious things, this section will be entirely fictional. They might be parodies (a la The Onion) or pop culture references, or short stories. Enjoy the last week of the month with a bit of humor or fun storytelling.

Some precautions:

• I am working on being less long winded…I am trying to keep these posts to less than 1500 words unless I really feel that there needs to be more time on an issue. I will try to break them down into multi-parters if I feel that they will be much longer than that.
• I like exclamation points! And creative writing. So, if you don’t like these things or the general style of this introduction you might just hate my whole page.
• I take critique…poorly, but I’ll take it! If you see something you don’t like, I might cry for 30 minutes, but I will take it to heart and try to correct it. So please comment and offer all your sage words of wisdom.

I look forward to sharing these moments with you.