For All Intensive Purposes this is a Blog


There are many reasons this blog came into existence–mostly the inspiration stems from conversations and even letters from my grandpa (yup, he’s still alive and going strong), but there are a few other reasons too:

In July I went to a UPenn networking event, on a whim, as I happened to be in San Francisco for a work trip and happened to be hanging out with Evan (in theory, we probably should have been friends in college but we had somehow *really* met for the first time at Rach’s wedding).  I was my charming, disheveled self at this event with a bunch of 20 and 30 something’s (all who worked in tech) and found myself talking to some guy.  As always, I insisted I knew him and low-and-behold, he remembered me too.  It took us 30 minutes to figure out that we had the same screenwriting class (he left Penn to go to the Israel army but not before one quick semester at Penn) and he loved my story about the alcoholic father grieving his father’s death (i.e. my story).  He, the electrical engineer film-lover, insisted I start writing again, as well as send him my stories and creative writing pieces.  I told him I was flattered; he grabbed my wrist and said, “Really, I would love to read your stuff.  Write again.” And to be honest, I kind of forgot about that night until recently, when I wrote some long cathartic email about my life–updates on family members, pursuit for love, adventures in nature, complaints about work–and she also encouraged me start writing again.  I don’t want you to think this is some preachy paragraph about how awesome I am; in fact, I’ve been told many a time that I am a terrible writer and have always been informed that I have zero writing talent.


I’ve felt something amiss in Seattle or perhaps that I have fallen all too quickly into old habits and spending my time in the same ways. Part of the reason I wanted to start life afresh on the West Coast was to get out of work as play life, but also to be more involved and with people, but I quickly found myself doing shopping errands, going to museums, alone, and making brownies, for myself.  I thrive off of routines but at the same time, I’m disappointed when I realize I once had fun ways of spending my time that were also entirely normal everyday parts of life:  one of my favorite photos is my mom, sister and I in the Scotts Valley hills painting together and one of my least favorite memories consists of my mother and her best friend kidnapping my sister, our best friend and myself to look at various missions across the state of California…yet both of these were constants. 


I’ve also talked a big game about drawing again (completed one sketch for Richard), thought a lot about taking up the piano again (need to research whether there are any classes or public pianos) and composing music.  It seems simple enough that I start with writing as it once meant something to me.


The more I talk with people about getting lost in the woods, questioning marriage or what I really want out of a life-partner and feeling a bit lost in my career ambitions, I find that many friends feel the same way.  I guess you can say, “Well, that’s why you’re friends isn’t it?”  These days I think there’s a lack of maybe putting yourself out there and be vulnerable, so as someone whose known as a tough exterior, maybe I need to make myself a bit more exposed.  Lastly, I have a few friends with blogs…my roommate and I even stalked her to-be-boyfriend by checking out his blog and I find them inspirational.  It’s normal to be sad; normal to be happy; and normal to create a photographic journal of your time.  Part of this writing once a day is meant for me to get it together and stay on top of organizing photos, music, calendars…. 


And during these times, I feel the need to answer these questions: 1) Where are you? (Most likely, I’m in Seattle) 2) what do unemployed people do all day? (Actually, a lot and I at least feel unaccomplished a lot of that time).  3) How did you get lost in the woods and not immediately tell me this story?  (How do I have time to tell you?)  4) What are you reading right now? (Yes, I am now on Good reads to honor Jenny’s internship).  5) Ugh, are you really telling that story again?  Why can’t you condense?  I don’t want to listen to this


And on a side note, perhaps this here blog will make me capitalize letters, start using punctuation, using words correctly (although a “talent” I have is to use words based on their sound versus meaning.  This leads to me looking like an idiot most of the time) and writing like an adult.  In another way, maybe this will allow me to start having more adult reality bites kind of conversations versus entertaining you with the life of Chelsea Bee.


And lastly x 2, you probably won’t believe this but two things in Costa Rica, really sealed the deal for me to get this going:  1) the placard in our last hotel that read, “remember…to observe, listen, understand and emphasize rather than see, hear, take pictures and boast,” coupled with this “if you want all the comforts of home, ask yourself why you are traveling.”  Since I stopped working, I’ve been trying to be more observant:  reflect on a song from junior high, contemplate the meaning of life and observe the natural beauty around me.  For someone like me, I find it really difficult to be present and in the present.  Slow down.  Listen.  Find something amusing.  Literally slow down my pace and not run place to place (that’s really not working out for me).  2) Flying back from SJC to ATL, first class nonetheless (thank you Ashley’s sky miles), we watched the terrible movie The Odd Life of Timothy Green and Timothy made his parents feel that they could do anything; at one point, they asked another character in the film, “how can you tell your child something is not possible?”  Even though this was the cheesiest thing ever, I somehow found it motivating.  Time to stop talking and start writing.  And BTW, you have nothing else to do so you might as well make a new habit of writing and do some exploratory short story writing while you are at it.  So that’s my story…or at least part of it.  We’ll get to the juicy stuff later, like turning 28.