Jot This Down

This blog post wasn’t necessarily done, but I’m in a different place in life now lol so I’m just gonna post it and go.

A Difference of Opinion

When my grandma let me know she didn’t like my blonde braids—which I already knew—she didn’t exactly say it. Instead, she said she liked the black ones I had better.
Little Taylor probably would’ve shrunk and never got blonde braids again. But grown me? Not only did I not let it bother me, I made sure to say it out loud. ‘Oh, well, I like both.’
That response was small, but to me it was everything. It wasn’t about convincing her—it was about making sure I heard myself say it. Because it’s my head, and my opinion is the only one that matters.
And honestly? It made me think about how many times I’ve let people’s unsolicited opinions take up space in my mind without pushing back. Like when a family member told me she didn’t like my glasses. Back then, I hadn’t done much healing or learned how to set boundaries, so I just laughed and asked why. I should’ve just said “okay” and kept it moving. Because girl, fuck you—who asked you? It’s crazy how people jump out of line just to be negative.
This is exactly why I don’t give my opinion unless it’s positive—or unless I’m asked. But Tay don’t lie, so if you ask, just know it’s coming.
Because at the end of the day, if I paid for it, my opinion is really the only one that matters.

Why Does the Caged Bird Sing

Europe did the worst thing to me by increasing my already exceedingly hedonistic mindset.
I told my therapist about my desire to always be having a good time, and she said, ‘Everything can’t be fun all the time.’ My response? ‘Why the hell not?’
I just don’t subscribe to giving my life away for hours and hoping time passes off my life. I’m here for a good time, not a long time. While that’s okay if others want to deal with the hum-drum of daily life filled with obligations, appointments, and chores, I simply don’t wish to participate. I’m destined for something greater.
I love nice things, but the ultimate luxury to me is freedom.
I have all the things to make a person feel free: car, money, a beautiful place to call home, yet, I feel so trapped.
While I know that my current lifestyle will not sustain long term joy, I tried my best to romanticize my life. Sometimes that requires me to see the bright side of a situation that may be bad on the surface.
Personally, I hate driving. Especially since I became a city girl. While I live in a walkable community, you NEED a car to survive in Atlanta, let’s be real. Do not even get me started on the traffic. If I leave work at the wrong hour, it quadruples (that means TIMES FOUR) my drive time home.
Hour commutes are not my dream, I’d rather live in a walkable city with public transit that doesn’t attract Soulja Girls. I try to rewire my thinking by reminding myself I’m grateful to have a car to make the commute. But I honestly don’t want to drive period.
I also tried being a tourist in my own city, keeping up with my romanticizing delusion. But let’s be real—eating a crepe in Atlanta doesn’t hit quite like enjoying a Dutch pancake in Amsterdam, the same way having the illusion of freedom doesn’t hit like actually being free.
Where’s the line between locking in to create the life I want and imploding from being TOO locked in?

Barnum Effect

I don’t subscribe to horoscopes—I think they’re a bunch of malarkey and a textbook example of the Barnum effect, where people believe vague statements apply specifically to them. Horoscopes, to me, are just that—general enough to fit anyone, but interpreted as personal.
But if anything ever made me even consider believing in horoscopes, it’s my friendship with someone who shares my exact birthday. It’s not one of those “it’s our birthday!” situations where one friend is born on the 10th and the other on the 12th—no, we were both born on May 20.
We were cool before, but once we started hanging out one-on-one, it became clear—we’re the same person. Literally. We think alike, like the same things, and have a similar outlook on life. It’s almost eerie.
It also makes for a unique dynamic when giving advice because I instinctively know how she feels, but I can still assess the situation from the outside. In a way, it makes me a better friend—I just treat her exactly how I want to be treated.
What really sealed it for me was our trip to Zara. We gravitated toward the same sections, picked up the same pieces, and—without saying a word—got overstimulated and ready to leave at the exact same time. But the real kicker? Her aversion to the clearance section. I couldn’t even fully process her reaction because I was having the same one. It’s not that we don’t love a deal, but the chaos—the digging, the disorganization, the sensory overload—is just too much. So we avoid it, together.

Circle of Life

I got a monstera, Destiny Childs, because my sisters had plants, and I wanted to join in on the fun. But I’ll be honest—I’m not a plant mom. I love the idea of a home filled with lush greenery, but realistically, I don’t have the patience for it. Which makes it even crazier that I went and got a dog when I can barely keep a plant thriving—but I digress.
At some point, I decided to split Destiny into two more plants, Michelle and Kelly. They’re all still alive, but they’re not exactly thriving. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been making an effort—trimming their roots, adjusting their environment, and searching for the right soil mix to keep Michelle happy. And as I wait for signs that they’re improving, I’ve been thinking about how much their journey mirrors my own.
It’s possible to survive in the wrong environment, but thriving takes care and intention. Just as I cut away dead roots to give my plants room to grow, I trim the ends of my hair, knowing a fresh start will lead to healthier growth. And just because Destiny, Michelle, and Kelly can technically survive in poor conditions doesn’t mean they have to. The same goes for me.
We don’t have to stay in places that stunt our growth. Instead, we adjust, we nurture ourselves, and we create the right conditions to thrive.