All Posts By

maurastewart14@gmail.com

0 In Creative Expressions

Reclaiming My Time

I am not a mouse.

I may be quiet

but I am strong.

I may think

calculate

ruminate

but I can roar.

Do not be the fool

who mistakes volume

for passion.

for intelligence.

for truth.

for assurance.

for strength.

August 18, 2017
0 In Creative Expressions

Sunflower

Sometimes, love simmers and bubbles.

You cover it with a lid, sealed until you’re ready to eat. Until it’s warmed through and you’ve finished baking the bread and mixing the drinks and reading the paper. As you pour it over your plate and bring it to your lips, it’s just warm enough to ward off the threatening chill of winter. Just enough so you can feel your fingers and toes, the warmth creeping up your limbs, inching its way toward your chest. You reach the final sip, and although somehow you’ve known this love was finite since you first lifted the lid and smelled its salty intoxication, denial can be stronger than truth. The warmth fades as the last drop slides slowly down your throat. The empty dish, full of broken promises and high hopes of an eternal optimist, stares back unapologetically.

I never wanted anything serious — it was just casual.

Silly me.

The now-shattered plate, hurled against the wall in a final act of retribution, reflects what you’ve become. Fragile, scattered, emotionless. Lying on the floor, gazing blankly at the ceiling, you will tears to come, to no avail. Your heart put up its hands and ran after the sting of rejection, leaving your body dry and hollow.

But slowly, tenderly, you glue the jagged pieces together with cocktails, lukewarm coffee, long bike rides, and patient, faithful friends. After months of lifeless eyes, a smile blooms on your face and laughter lulls you to sleep. You feel better and whole, despite a few irreparable cracks you’re still learning to paint with gold.

And then, on an otherwise ordinary afternoon, you wrap yourself in the summer breeze and listen to the dirt path crumble beneath your tires. You squint in the sun as love emerges before you — active, bursting with life, and drenched in the pursuit of adventure. After all the years of breaking and gluing and breaking and gluing, of waiting for that simmer to turn to a boil, love strolls up beside you with a casual smile. Just as you’re lingering at the edge of cynicism, considering a dive head first, it smacks you in the face and shakes you from your resigned slumber. The plate is full again. Your heart grows and your smile begins to stick. But still, those cracks remain.

Those cracks.

Doubt runs a finger down your spine, assuring you you’ll reach the last drop and like before, he’ll realize you’ve been filling a hole saved for his past, only to leave you shattered on the floor,

but then.

Eyes fixed on yours, he presses a sunflower between your anxious hands. The existential meandering from just moments ago slips away. A fire roars beneath the undecided, fickle, simmering love you once took for truth, and a new reality settles in. Where the future is still unknown but the ground ahead feels solid. Where vocal vulnerabilities allow trust to flourish and we drink laughter with our tea. As fingers intertwine, the flutter of your heart dampens the ache you’ve never before managed to escape.

And finally, love surprises you once more as you feel yourself falling.

Surrendering.

Believing.

November 22, 2016
0 In Dear Women

I Disagree

I used to write long, flowing sentences. Climb trees without fear. Make my voice heard and make no apologies for my opinions. It’s jarring to reflect on who I used to be. I feel the same in so many ways, but there are moments when I’m particularly conscious of the distance between my current and former self.

Now, I subconsciously compose tweets in my head and find it increasingly difficult to conjure up the descriptive prose I clung to in adolescence. The words, which once came effortlessly, are marked with a heavy hand, a hesitancy to pen the wrong word. Something that shatters the image of a thoughtful, composed young woman.

You could fill a graveyard with the people I used to be. But one loss particularly bothers me, because it is so starkly different than the image I have of my original self.

The once unabashed, outspoken girl has, despite my best intentions, become a quiet, hesitant woman. I double-and-triple think my music taste, my writing style, my tone at work. If I push back on this, will I come off as a bitch? For fear of assuming the slew of labels regularly used against women, I have lost my voice.

It seems I’ve been so indoctrinated that I can no longer respectfully disagree with someone’s opinion.

I could list countless influences that have contributed to my slowly-developed aversion to disagreeableness. I could – but I won’t, because I can pinpoint the exact cause. I, like most girls, have been told time and again – Boys won’t like you if you “____.” Fill in the blank space with anything you’d like – think of it as a mad lib. Whatever it is that makes you undesirable to men, you must stop. The spark inside, you must snuff out or risk burning everyone in your path. Outspoken? Hush. Smart? Hide it. Passionate? Tone it down. Most of these seemingly innocuous comments poured from the mouths of the well-intentioned, loving, incredibly fabulous and supportive people I call family, friends, and mentors. I in no way blame them. This is on us all. And there is no easy answer. I’d love to proudly proclaim I don’t give a damn if men find me desirable – but I can’t. As frustrating as I find the current state of womanhood, I don’t fantasize about spending the rest of my days alone.

But I also can’t spend the rest of my days masquerading as a meek, indecisive, wholly agreeable person. Maybe I can’t radically change society, but I have to start somewhere. So I’ll start here.

I’m determined to take back my voice. My unapologetic attitude. It’s still very much a part of who I am (ask my family – they’ll vouch for me), and I intend to fully embrace it. Of course, I have grown enough to realize I am not infallible – my opinions are not facts and can be shaped according to reason and experience. I must carefully walk the line between honestly speaking my mind and becoming a critic. (The world has enough of those already). But that doesn’t mean I’m obligated to agree with everyone with whom I interact. So long as it’s respectfully done, disagreement can foster incredible conversation and growth. Being likeable for the sake of being likeable is wholly uninteresting, and quite frankly, doesn’t inspire the change I’m so desperately searching for. So I’ve resolved to actively reject the agreeable-at-all-costs-sense of femininity that’s been thrust upon me. If that makes me a bitch, then so be it.

Because we all know: bitches get stuff done*.

 

 

 

*All bow to Amy and Tina.

March 9, 2016
0 In Uncategorized

24

My 20s have been far less glamorous than Hollywood told me.

I just turned 24 and, to be honest, the past 4 years have included considerably more coffee shops, Thai takeout, and existential crises than wild nights out on the town. I haven’t started a world-changing social network, enlisted in the Peace Corps, created a thriving business to support young professional women, or moved to New York City with $20 dollars to my name to pursue my dream. When I remember Adele is only a year older than me and Malala was 16 when she challenged the TALIBAN, my accomplishments feel even smaller.

That’s why I’m here. It seems that everyone my age feels obligated to play the part – traipse along with pasted smiles, like life is peachy and going according to plan. But I’ve spoken with enough 20-somethings (heck, even 40 or 50-somethings) to have an inkling that most of us are just muddling through, trying to learn the moves as best we can without looking like a total jackass in the process.

My hope with this blog is to document a small blip of authentic 20-something life. I don’t pretend to represent the entire Millennial generation, I’ll just write about what I love. Food, photography, social justice, career, travel, feminism, politics, music, art, the written word, and love will most likely dominate this space – like I said, I don’t have it all figured out yet.

I’m well aware that I’m supposed to find a blogging niche, but honestly, I’ve never been one to squeeze myself into a box. I want to write about my passions – things that excite me, infuriate me, or give me hope! I’m not writing this for anyone in particular. I’m writing this for me, and for the hope that someone else will hear my satellite call and feel slightly more assured on their fumbling, glamour-less journey. All I can promise is that I’ll never stop challenging the status quo – and that I will NEVER post a listicle. (Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good Buzzfeed aggregate of the top 10 Internet cats of 2015 as much as the next girl, but I’m a writer. And listicles are not writing. #sorrynotsorry)

So here’s to figuring it out together.

February 20, 2016