birthday

We exist 365 days a year. Over, and over, and over again.

We stumble through the beginning, army-crawl through the middle, and teeter through the rest.

Hopefully not all, optimistically most, come and go without a scrape or blunder.

But the days that bruise can feel like years themselves.

Hard or insignificant – they take up a lot of the time.

Or you’re blessed with delusion.

Or you choose to celebrate.

The small achievements, the silly friendaversaries, the day attributed to your existence.

“I’m not a big birthday person.”
“I don’t like to make it a big deal.”
“Who wants the attention?”
“I’m just closer to death.”

The results are in from the poll I didn’t facilitate.

People of a certain age have decided birthdays are juvenile, narcissistic, archaic rituals.

What they don’t realize – they’ve trapped themselves in a box.

A piñata-shaped box full of party hats, bad cake, and the smell of balloons.

Birthdays need to be set free from the chains of a 20-second song sung by a room full of beady eyes staring into your soul.

Birthdays are the holiday of you.

You Day.

You collect the pieces that bring you the most joy, and you clobber them together for 24 hours.

Look ahead or look back.

Reflect or forget.

Explore or hide.

Together or alone.

Unapologetically take one of the 365 days to allow yourself to revel in the fact that you’re here. You just did it all again for another year. And you’re about to do it for another one.

This is the fourth birthday in a row I have chosen to spend the day alone.

Most of them have been filled with a lot of time scream-singing on a long drive, meandering through nature, looking at people’s old stuff, and intermittently tearing up.

I wish I knew why, or if it was a common occurrence, but when I entered my 30s, it was like my body was dipped in a vat of emotions.

I feel a lot, a lot of the time. Mostly my own swarm of insecurities and anxieties, but I also relentlessly sponge up others’.

Your facial expression, your tone, the order in which you placed those words. I consume all of it and assume your feelings. And that assumption grows legs, running away from both of us.

It’s exhausting.

So I take a day, trying only to dissect and regulate my own jumble of adjectives.

Thankful, lightly restless, romantically starved, less-than-usual anxious, platonically fulfilled, hopeful, buzzed.

With only five hours to go, the goal is to abandon the self-inflicted interrogation of intent and growth. 300+ days to analyze myself.

Hours 20-24 shall be for hot tub singing, vampire smut, and dog cuddles.

Happy me day to me.

tattoos : part I

I’ve come to terms with being a walking conversation starter.

Probably hard to buy, but that wasn’t the intention when I started filling nooks and crannies with permanent lines, dots, and gradience of black.

Well full transparency, the combination of early 20s insecurities and “nice ink” was a high I rode for a few years.

But here we are - arms almost full of memories, lessons learned, loved ones, trophies (literally) and when they all have stories - they’re bound to wiggle into the awkward pauses of conversations.

And I’m (mostly) happy to share. “They’ve all got stories, some better than others.”

Here is where I’d like to apologize to my friends that have endured the tales over and over again, mostly to drunk men at bars that stopped listening before they even asked.

But the point! Back in 2018, I started a draft glossary of these inanimate objects and their very real yarn attachments to my heart. That was X amount of tattoos ago.

Disclaimer - there are too many ways to organize this. Chronologically, Geographically, Spectrum of mental state at the time. We’re going with Body Part.

Not Arms

Left Rib - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania - Bible Verse

“So they are no longer two, but one flesh, there for what God has joined, man must never separate.”

My first tattoo may have been in the most first tattoo font in the most first tattoo spot, but it carried a weight that felt much larger than a 18th birthday scandal.

Catholics hold on tight to their verses. They dig their teeth into them, build grudges off of them, cut ties due to them.

And as a teenage spectator to this, I felt in awe of the power these old words had on all I knew at the time.

Upper Back - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania - Claddagh

Summers were spent shuttled between grandparents houses, in the best way. Gram managed most of the hefty lifting to keep us alive - but Pap would make his guest appearances. Fighting Irish t-shirt, Fighting Irish mug, Fighting Irish room decor.

To be clear, not a single family member has attended Notre Dame, but god do we love being Irish.

RIP Pap.

Right Rib - Salem, Massachusetts - The Fool Tarot Card

“The Fool represents new beginnings, having faith in the future, being inexperienced, not knowing what to expect, having beginner's luck, improvisation and believing in the universe.“

When on a 20+ women bachelorette party, most of which complete strangers, and the day takes you to a tattoo shop, you get something Salem-y and life-y.

Moving to Philadelphia, creating new amazing friendships, redefining what the future should and would look like post break up: The Fool was the card dealt to me.

Left Arm

Shoulder - Dublin, Ireland - Globe

“This is as realistic as its going to get” - Said the tattoo artist as he placed his version of the continents on my body forever. Not only does this tattoo capture its intended purpose of “yay I’m a world traveler now” but also perfectly exhibits my jellyfish like spine at the age of 20.

Shoulder - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - Artemis Bust

The goddess of wild animals and the hunt.

January 2024 I started the Hard 75 Challenge. 75 days of no alcohol, a diet, two 45 minute exercises a day (one has to be outside), a gallon water / day, 10 pages a book / day, and a daily progress photo.

It was a fresh attempt of self discipline that I had never braved before, and while the experiment was flawed, the quality time I spent with nature that winter was a special kind of reward.

Shoulder - New Orleans, Louisiana - Alligator

The year of my 32nd birthday, I decided money wasn’t real but self healing was.

I took myself to New Orleans for my birthday and had a heck of a time. Fancy dinners, spa, stranger friends and the highlight - kayaking in alligator bayou water.

Did I see one? No, but the strangers in the group did so that was validation enough.

Upper Arm - Whitefish, Montana - Battery

Covid should be universally associated to board games, but I acknowledge my experience was particularly Hallmark movie-esque.

Picture this: A man and his girlfriend move to Montana during a pandemic to escape the confinements of city life. They extend the job opportunity to his best friend and his remote work girlfriend, who join them right as winter rolls in. Buried in the snowy silence around them, they cozy up to a create your own adventure card game with the most aesthetically pleasing graphics. Evenings are spent under heat lamps and the stars, pretending the only world we’re concerned about exists within these imaginary walls and trap doors.

Upper Arm - Richmond, Virginia - Earl Myer Flask

I some how managed to graduate college in four years, 3 of those undeclared, and in a major that felt like kicks and giggles. My homework forced me to be creative, I was graded by the depth of my emotions, and I literally hid away in a dark room.

Happy graduation to me, I celebrated with the chemical that soaked my finger tips and lingered in my nostrils - Kodak D-76.

Upper Arm - Seattle, Washington - Fork & Knife

11 years. Eleven. A decade plus one of always having a restaurant side hustle. Classes, internships, and low paying day jobs were always smushed between long shifts working a host stand or scurrying about cleaning tables and running food.

It was the end of an era I really wan’t ready to say goodbye to, but the lack of sleep and alcohol intake levels begged to differ.

Upper Arm - Frederick, Maryland - Good Luck Horseshoe

It was free.

The day began as a supportive girlfriend along for the ride for a Tattoo Client Appreciation Day. The day, 6+ hours later in the beating sun, ended with a ‘sure, that one’.

Did you know an upside down horseshoe is actually bad luck? I sure didn’t - but it does make me love it even more.

Armpit - Whitefish, Montana - Butterfly

I was turning 30 - and that meant life was changing. In the moment, I really don’t think I knew what that meant or even what I hoped post cocoon life looked like. Little did we know, 30s have felt like a flap of fresh wings, but far from the original flight plan.

Upper Arm - Houston, Texas - Antique Suitcase + Mirror

A business trip with a few extra days tacked on, I felt compelled to collect a few little guys. Actively traveling and spending as much time in consignment stores as possible - it felt right to represent the things that bring me joy. People’s old stuff.

Upper Arm - Seattle, Washington - Trophy

It’s funny. I know this is on my body as an ode to my lack of athletic ability or interest to maintain a ‘thing’ throughout school years enough to earn a trophy. I know it was a poke at myself and my lack of winner status - but I really couldn’t tell you what was swirling around my life at the time to compel me to get it. Additional income is my guess.

Upper Arm - Seattle, Washington - Above Ground Swimming Pool

Even now, if I close my eyes on a hot, humid day with the smell of fresh cut grass and a whiff of SPF 50+, I can feel the swimmies fighting their way up my arms and the metal pool ladder hit my toes. The uneven vinyl floor, the diving rings I’d pick up with my feet. The almost falling asleep in her arms, floating around. It can feel like a lot of (self induced) pressure to select an inanimate object to symbolize saying goodbye to someone. But Gram was summers in her back yard. A blur of grandchildren and neighbor kids - she fed, loved, and mostly fretted over all. RIP Gram.

Upper Arm - Seattle, Washington - Lemon

If your personality was a fruit. Lemons can be a little tough, alarmingly tart to the palette. But, associated with lemonade, a sweet treat.

Kindness, consideration, warmth (lemonade) is what I move throughout life trying to be, but I am unfortunately flawed with a handful of quirks that are often expressed as side eyes and curt responses (tart).

Forearm - Austin, Texas - ‘Stairs’ credit to Matthew Zaremba

Tattoos make the best souvenirs. Also, 24 me 1. loved Matthew Zaremba 2. thought her only fear in life was falling downstairs.

Both aren’t not true still today.

Forearm - Seattle, Washington - Mountain Laurel

The first summer living on the other side of most I’ve ever known - I was bound to feel homesick. The Pennslyvania state flower did the trick… Plus the artist’s remix to add thorns was another jellyfish spine moment.

Forearm - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - Diver

Usual answer: I was diving into a new phase of my life post engagement break up.

Really, real answer: It was a very awkward spot and I was struggling to find something that fit ALSO I was diving into a new phase of my life post engagement break up.

Forearm - Seattle, Washington - Anvil

Every side, surface, curve, etc. of an Anvil serves a purpose. It exists entirely with intention. I learned this, and I needed this. My intentions vary in intensity, momentum, and flavor - but I have big intentions to be intentional.

Foream - Seattle, Washington - Matchbook

It’s incredibly validating to get a tattoo in the throws of big emotions and years later still feel very head nod yes to the heart of it.

Everything is fleeting, as a flame to a match.

The gooey happiness in the early stages of infatuation to the hardest days of existence - it all passes on to the next high, low, and in between.

Elbow ditch - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - Rebel Heart

You told me once I have a rebel heart
I don't know if that's true
But I believe you saw something in me that
Lives inside you too
Now all I hear is the wind
There's a storm coming through
Did I misplace or forsake my love
Now that I gave it to you?

First Aid Kit is by far my favorite musical group. Two folky women with beautiful voices, serenading me into validating my feelings? Plus the first show I saw with Heartbreak himself? Yeah, no brainer break up tattoo.

Back Elbow (?) - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - Western Meadowlark

I LOVE an ode to a place I’ve lived or traveled to. I think my true aspirations are to be a walking passport of sorts, but the budget hasn’t supported that and the emotional damage became a more present theme.

Western Meadowlark: Montana State Bird

Outside Elbow (?) - Philadelphia, Pennslyvania - Water fountain (old timey)

I promise the brick wall object sprawled across my elbow is a water fountain.

Upon moving to Philadelphia from Montana I immediately felt claustrophobic. I didn’t really think that in just one year under the big sky I grew accustomed to open spaces, trees, greenery, and most importantly - minimal humans.

When I discovered the massive trail system in walking distance to my house, I escaped daily. And every day, I’d pass this water fountain structure, covered in beautiful green moss and it would inform me I was approximately 20 minutes from home.

Back Elbow (?) - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - Cracked Rearview Mirror

My dating history has always been plagued with a reoccurring (some would say bad) habit - revisiting exes.

Something in my DNA leaves me susceptible to frequent, selective memory loss. After months go by, I forget the things that made us utterly incompatible - and I circle back for another round.

It’s a pattern of looking back I’m actively trying to shake.

Forearm - Philadelphia, Pennslyvania - Lightning Bug

East coast kids will get it. The thrill of running around the yard at dusk, chasing those glowing butts, screaming with excitement as you smuggle one into a jar with minimal air flow. Little pieces of magic.

It didn’t feel like seven years away at the time, but feet firmly planted back in Pennsylvania, I was reminded of the pieces, big or small, that curated the human I am today.

Wrist - Seattle, Washington - Cake x 2

I’ve gone through phases of my life that a common saying really resonates. Our first example: “You Can’t Have your Cake and Eat it Too”

Early /Mid twenties Devin was faced with two roads. Spoiler - neither were great options. But it was a tug of war era with my little heart, threatening to overlap. Decisions were made and all parties moved forward, but it was a permanent reminder to honor and own the decisions you make.

Upper Wrist - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - Three Nails

Important context: I was proposed to on my 30th birthday

On my 31st birthday, I was in a new city and knew one person (that was not available). So, I took myself to Cape May to soak up the nostalgia of family beach trips as a child, journal, meander, shoot rolls of film, and probably cry.

All of that happened BUT I also met two amazing women that would quickly become pillars to my sanity. The following year they brought me more happiness, comfort, support, and love I knew was platonically possible.

Where did we meet? The Rusty Nail.

Both Arms

Below Elbow - Seattle, Washington - Slide and Ladder

Chutes and Ladders. Life has its ups and downs, duh.

right arm coming soon...

therapeutic musings

Dating in my 30s has led me to the same question over and over again:

“Why am I like this?”

I fear that sounds self deprecating in the most exhausting way.

But, it truly comes from a place of wide eyed curiosity.

While I already feel painfully aware of my faults, shortcomings, and areas of growth… I’ve been stumped as to where and how and when they took up permanent residence in my make and model.

And yes, I have attempted therapy. Multiple attempts, each with big aspirations and bigger commitments to ‘doing the work’. But ironically enough finding the right therapist is eerily similar to the romantic dating landscape. The right fit wasn’t fitting.

So I’ve taken an alternative path. Is it based in science or data? Absolutely not. Do I feel delusionally confident in my findings? Yes, very much so.

Some of it is a bit woe is me, so buckle up. But while mildly depressing, extremely enlightening.

Connecting dots that span from childhood to the awkward middle through the wild twenties and landed us here seem to just make sense. And for one avoidant or denial reason, the obvious only feels obvious now.

Adolescence

Memories are hard, but from what isn’t completely drenched in cobwebs, they tell me I was an odd kid.

The most prominent snippets:

• I was a small shadow to the before / after school 30s something YMCA woman

• Countless hours creating elaborate and dramatic relationship dynamics between my barbies

• At recess one day in the middle of the field a group of girls stole my shoes as I pathetically weeped with soggy socks and jello backbone.

Safe to say at a pretty early age I grew a strong preference for being alone. I had a family that loved me, a sister that tolerated me, and a few fellow small humans I considered pals - but solo time always felt like thriving.

Teenager

How did any of us survive? Truly a war zone of emotional and mental weaponry.

I clearly have held on to some zest for dramatics.

I didn’t sport, I was medium to low smarts, and was as timid as they come. Not unique to feel unique, but at the time was an octagon peg surrounded by round and square holes.

Small clusters of girlfriends would come and go and best friend bracelets changed hands.

Something about me or them or both always lacked a feeling of permanence or loyalty, but also easy to exist short sided.

In the whirl of navigating girl group politics and broken hearts every other week, my parents’ were getting a divorce.

Evenings often felt like I took on the hats of therapist, legal counsel, and sounding board to my mom.

With an already formed eye roll towards the main male influence in my life, these new nuances didn’t help my budding perspective on men as a whole.

Heart Break #1

Ah to be bamboozled by the cool, older hockey player. Classic. I was a walking heart eyed cartoon character, and it took such little (to no) effort to make me swoon. Every day of that summer long relationship I walked on air knowing that he had ‘picked me’.

All for it to end a few days before school started with the break up of, “you’re just not very interesting”.

Interesting enough to take my virginity though.

We hate to see it, hate to give a blip of a high school summer fling ‘relationship’ that much weight, that much power. But it feels possible that relationship combined with my deep rooted stubbornness is indeed my origin story.

Twenties

Unknowingly and unwillingly, it began the slow but sturdy construction of walls. A fortress. A safe haven so meticulously architected even the host wasn’t aware of its scope.

Artfully camouflaged as independence and a free spirit, most of my twenties sauntered on with one failed or short lived romance after the other. Ever the optimist and romantic, I whole heartedly dove head first into each with the genuine mantra of ‘this is different, this is it’.

‘Twas never it as I ran away in the darkness of night or on the wing of ‘It’s not you it’s me’ text.

Generally speaking these men, with a few outliers, were nice, good men. They cared, they listened, they loved. They had no idea of the unscalable barricade that stood ahead of them.

And then Vitos happened.

Engaged

Working in the restaurant industry is like living in another dimension. Time isn’t real, customers aren’t humans, and the responsibilities of tomorrow don’t exist when the shifty touches your lips.

Steeped in red leather and candle light, it wasn’t a shocking development to fall in love with the brooding bartender. Our romance had a quick pace, a shared character flaw, and within months we were playing house.

While we were swiftly engulfed in a serious, committed relationship tracking towards the aisle and children, I was still able to hold on to what I had always been truly devoted to - being alone. With schedules that overlapped as Night and Day, our time together often meant shared snores and few shared meals.

These big feelings and these big gaps in time together left me feeling something rare - I longed for his presence. And my brain equated that ache to mean necessity. I needed him, therefore I should marry him. And if I need him, and marry him, then I accept the faults and flaws - no matter the loneliness those faults and flaws cause me.

Running, Again

“Oh sweetheart, the only change you can expect is the change you can control.” - said the southern therapist through the virtual portal on our second session as I debated what life I wanted to sign up for. It took 45 minutes and $150 dollars to confirm I was ending an engagement, leaving the man I had loved for almost five years, un-planning a planned wedding, and moving across the country to a city I knew one person.

Ending that conversation was the beginning of feeling numb. Planning my exit, telling him it was too late, and packing the car felt like an out of body experience. I drove 11 hours a day for 4 days alone with a blank brain and a withered heart.

And arrived in Philadelphia a violent case of whiplash - was I devastated? Empowered? Reconsidering? Irrevocably damaged?

Dark Times

The funny thing about ripping your own heart out, is you’re deeply, deeply depressed until you’re deeply, deeply bitter.

The blame ping pongs at a rapid speed, the regret tries to taint every good memory, and the light at the end of the tunnel intermittently snuffed out.

Often times it felt like I was fighting for my life not to truly, whole heartedly, with every fiber of my being despise the existence of men.

How could I not? Most of my loudest memories of men echo disappointment, hurt feelings, questions of my own worth.

Woof. And I was actively trying to date amidst this harsh sentiment. Wooooof.

In Progress

Unraveling this spool of thread has let me come to terms with these feelings. Sit with them. Poke at them. Unapologetically revel in them. Stare straight at the fortress built upon masculine induced tribulations.

This level of self awareness is, well, uncomfortable. And a temptation to spiral further down the ‘you’re crazy and absolutely going to die alone’ road.

But it has been a humbling gift.

You can’t ask people to act within the confinements of your expectations of them. You can’t exist in a permanent state of anticipated disappointment. You can’t speak of grace but only act in rigidity.

My flaws haven’t evaporated nor my bitterness found an absolute cure.

But having a new, bird’s eye view of my baggage has made the load feel lighter.

Not just in terms of my romantic apprehensions, but also how I’ve navigated friendships.

Turns out letting people in is not a direct attack on autonomy.

I think about that soggy socks little girl and while I still want to swoop her up to dryer, bully-free pastures - I also want to tell her wipe her eyes and give them hell.

Because we’re all accomplices to the change we choose not to make.

2025

I fall into a certain genre of human that gets a tattoo on Leap Day because you’re supposed to do something special.

I need no excuse to find magic in the mundane, or the celebration in an average day.

For instance, year 2025. To many a year that follows 2024 and will prepare us for 2026.

But to me, its half way to 2050. It’s a quarter of a century. It’s a multiplier of 5.

There’s a lot to dig your teeth in there.

So naturally, expectations are high and goals are lengthy for the incoming 365 days.

How can I squeeze the most life out of one year?

How will I successfully grow in my career while developing as a person in parallel?

Can I be a better friend and family member, while also diving deeper into the hobbies I’ve left abandoned?

2025 seems like the best occasion to try.

..

I place the weight of my every thought on it. I do my best to silence the beasts of fear, resentment, anger. I muster up reason and truth. I swallow the pill. 

It was never a consideration because there was never a question. Never a pause because there was no other reality. Risk because there was never a consequence. 

Now there is guilt. Brutal, dirty, catholic guilt. A guilt that was buried deep in my bones when that water splashed in my tears. 

She would feel a burden I could never carry away. He would have a new smudge across his lenses. Selfless or selfish, I couldn’t kick the pedestal from beneath my own feet. 

Secrets have never been my gift. Not with you, not like this. 

But shame is stronger than I can bare. Louder and bigger. Bullied me into silence. 

A stagnant cloud of burnt air told me first. Followed by the pang of turbulence in the pit of my stomach. 

A long delay. Distraction in the desert. Three tests. Two more. 

All of my senses went dark. Silence glazed over my body. I felt numb and I felt everything.

The question. 

I never painted this lifestyle into my fairy tales. I never felt a maternal tug in my chest. I always knew the answer. 

But I didn’t expect the answer would take this much of me. 

I lost something I never wanted. 

With the wallpaper gone, there’s something different in the grain. 

I watched my body swell with life. I felt every layer twitch and shake. I tasted the end as it dissolved in my mouth. I let it go. 

The other side feels hollow. Empty with a desperate plea for peace. It doesn’t rest in my belly, yet in the bottom of my spine. A constant ache to stand tall and strong. 

But I’m learning strong doesn’t always mean tall. Sometimes strong doesn’t mean strength at all. 

I let the question break me. I crumbled in the wake of it. I surrendered. I mourned. 

Hollow, fragile, and raw. I lost something I never thought I wanted. 

Bridges

You saw it coming.
Because wildfire isn't known for it's subtleties.
You'll feel the heat before sight or smell can reach you.

You knew it was coming.
Are you the flame or the structure?
Neither here nor there.
You won't make it to safety before the foundation crumbles.

You were the spark that ignited the end.
Because you always are.
They can't trust you with matches.

It's all or nothing.
Their broken bodies scattered at your feet.
They lived a flame-less existence.
Over before it could begin.

The whole book in flames - cover to cover.
A flicker too contagious to contain.

You're on the fast track to a bridge-less landscape.
How do you feel about islands?
I hope you're resourceful, resilient.

We get it. You're independent.

But you're human. And you're learning.
Scar tissue doesn't fade.
The self inflicted or the gifted.

This is a reminder. A branding.
Wear your mistakes and your regrets.
Keep them close. Keep them fresh.

For tomorrow you start to rebuild.