Howdy, Y’all

Howdy, y’all???

HOWDY, Y’ALL?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Is that really how I started this? Why is that the very first thing that popped into my head? I’ve never said ‘howdy y’all’ in my entire life.

Not that there’s anything wrong with the intro – It’s a great greeting! If you say howdy y’all, you’re probably a very nice cowboy, a southern bell, or Rachel Hollis. It’s just… not me (unless Rach is reading this, then I take everything back and am sticking with my original intro and howdy y’all is totally me).

Husband, friends, anyone I interact with on a regular basis – please never speak of this again. This is a sacred place, okay. I’m nervous, give me a break. What happens on the internet, stays on the internet – that’s the rule, right?

Okay, now that we got the awkwardness out of the way, please let me try again.

Hey, how you doin’? (a little better, maybe?)…

My name is Caysi-Rae, but you can call me Caysi or Cays if you’re in a hurry. Caysi-Rae is reserved for a few select friends and formal occasions, mostly because it just sounds weird.

I’m 20-something years old for a few more months and am in the midst of my quarter-life crisis. I’m married to an amazing man and together we parent three purrrfect fur-children. I work in finance by day and am a daydreamer by night.

I ended up here because – WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, 2020? What part of the universe royally screwed up and gave us 20 years of fuckery in 12 months? Whoever it was, I hope they were fired.

This year, I have spent a lot of this time by myself. Not as much time as others, but for me, it was a lot. I worked from home for a good chunk of it and my husband is a delivery driver so he’s been delivering all of your stupid Amazon packages on overdrive.

The time I have spent with my thoughts has dug me into a deep, dark hole that has manifested into a quarter-life crisis. For a lot of reasons, I haven’t been able to spend a lot of my life figuring out what I really like or enjoy or want.

In solitude, for the first time in my life, I was able to embark on a path of self-discovery and now I’m stuck in the rut of it. How does one even figure out what they like?

Thus, we are here. I love writing, I do know that. I’ve started several blogs in my day – all of which I have passionately slaved over for a few short weeks, given up on or gotten too busy for, and then moved on. Only to start or revisit said blog years later.

Each time, there is a common theme – complete, paralyzing self-doubt that no one would care what I had to say. This time is going to be different – this time, I’m writing for me. To hold myself accountable to the things I want to do, to the things I want to share, and to all the self-discovery I have left.

Also, it has to be because I paid for this domain name.

If you decide to embark on this with me, I can’t promise I’ll change your life, inspire you to discover yourself, or unlock the secrets of the universe – after all, I am just a girl laying in her underwear drinking hard cider.

What I can promise you is several perfectly placed cuss words, real-life stories, summaries of my growth, poetry, a few good recipes, and some absurdly cute cat pictures.

Come hang out with me, or not – either way, I’m excited to document this next journey even though I’m not entirely sure of what it will be.

Okay byeee,

A Lens of Perfection

In a world overflowing with highlight reels of perfect lives and great adventures, and so much time to scroll through them, I’ve been struggling to keep up.

Struggling to keep my apartment clean, eat healthily, workout, and work from home. Be a good wife, a good sister, a good friend. Check projects off of my long, long list.

Then I find myself snapping a photo of the fleeting moments that I actually do one of these things, and I post it.

I create my highlight reel as I sit in anxiety, stress, and depression trying to make it look like I have it all together.

As if posting filtered photos of my perfectly decorated cupcake is going to make it all go away.

We position something just right in our lens and slap on a filter of perfection that doesn’t exist and together we built this massive world of FOMO and insecurities.

We feed our feelings of unworthiness all day long as we scroll and we pin and we post and we tweet and we retweet and you get the point.

For me, this leads to a lifetime of chasing perfection.

From late nights reorganizing my apartment for the 100th time because it’s not perfect to early mornings in the kitchen because the thought of the dishes in the sink kept me up all night and as hard as I try I can’t stand the thought of it.

It’s feeling unworthy at work because I made a small mistake, but in my mind, I’m not allowed to make mistakes.

It’s collapsing in my husband’s arms, trying to catch my breath because I failed… Again.

And I’ve realized, this cannot just be me; regardless of the scenarios, I’ve made up in my head of everyone else’s perfection.

Now, I’m craving a social media connection on a real level. I want to see your dirty dishes, piles of laundry, a picture of the dinner you burnt and isn’t plated perfectly.

Sure, your vacation photos are amazing. But, I want to hear about the days and the nights you spent on the couch. The weekends you did nothing.

I want to hear about the things you think failed at and share in those experiences because failure is splattered all over the pathway to success.

The idea of living moment to moment only looking for perfect snapshots is tearing out so much of the beauty of life.

I’m so tired of the highlight reel of life filtered through a lens because even though it’s possible and wonderful to have moments of perfection in our lives, it is small and it’s not what matters the most.

I want to see your outtakes and your moments of imperfection because that is where the beauty is and that is what we all need because no one is perfect.