Anyone watch the U.S. men’s hockey final vs. Canada? Well, I feel comfortable spoiling it for you since it was the last day of the Olympics and a huge success for the United States… so yeah — the U.S. men won. Forty-six years to the day of the Miracle on Ice in 1980.
And you know what was so incredibly relevant to me during that game? What pearl I gleaned?
Did anyone else notice the U.S. goaltender? He was phenomenal. Like… he won the game. He won the game defensively. And it hit me that sometimes life isn’t about how many shots you can take — it’s about how many fucking shots you can take and not back down.
That’s what this post is about: holding the line when life keeps firing.
Now, I know my blogs can seem a little too cathartic. If you’re looking for a rom-com or a lighthearted pitch, you’ll probably need to tread along because I’m a deep-thinking gal. I guess I take a metaphysical approach to life — trying to unearth its patterns and tendencies and assign some kind of metaphorical backbone I can actually relate to. Something I can picture in my mind. That’s how I operate: I have to envision it to understand it.
I have to hold the concept in my hands, cupped in a way that obviously imprints my emotional perception — but not held so tight that I morph or distort its image for other people.
I enjoy watching the logistics of the world unfold around me. I like comparing Earth’s struggles to simple creatures enduring metamorphic change. Its disturbing reality comforts me. It saddens me to know that a caterpillar somewhere is writhing in discomfort, encapsulated in darkness and solitude — but it warms me to know that if they keep writhing, and pushing, and flushing out the world around them through their instincts, the light will find them again.
And not find them as they once were — but as bold, beautiful, spectacular creatures that no longer crawl, but fly.
I like to think about my favorite football team, the San Francisco 49ers, and ponder the talent on their roster. Kyle Shanahan really is a smart dude when it comes to stealthily gliding through the NFL, snatching cream-of-the-crop talent when no one else sees it.
Mr. Irrelevant — Brock Purdy? His character alone speaks volumes. That dude has never once been in a situation where his reputation wasn’t on the line.
But the player I identify with most is George Kittle. His grit. His fight. His reach. His unmatched ability to dig deep and give the sport everything he is humanly capable of.
And you know what? Fifth-round pick.
So yeah… I know. GOD DO I KNOW. I’m certainly not a first-round pick. Vet school made that obvious. And this current job search is really sinking its fangs into my neck.
But I know one damn thing: I won’t give up.
And I don’t just mean in a literal, physical sense. I won’t give up being the good person — the person who takes the long way if it means it’s the moral way. I won’t stop prioritizing my values over fame, fortune, dominance in a specific field… whatever.
Because I’m that girl from southeastern North Carolina who talks with a twang, who loves to think, loves to play in the dirt, loves to cuss, sing at the top of her lungs, and disturb others with the graphic reality of life.
It’s real. It’s raw. It’s who you fucking get when you get Glossi.
I guess today’s blog is really about me releasing my emotional grip on trying to have everything figured out — and understanding that life is happening now. Not when I have the ideal job, or income, or house, or yard, or car, or anything money could buy.
Not even stability. No. It’s happening in the moments when I’m crying, when my abdomen is retching with each gasp of air I take as I sink lower and lower into despair.
It’s happening when I eat my staple dish of kefir, Grape-Nuts, and fruit (ladies — if you do nothing else, give yourself some probiotic love. Your microbiome will love you back even if your butt hates you first).
Life is happening when we keep saying, Wait. No, not yet. I’m not ready yet.
Well, motherlicker — just like the circle of life and those regularized bowel movements after some grape nutties… the shit’s coming, ready or not.
So now I’m choosing to embrace life. To embrace the present.
I’ve applied to so many fucking jobs it’s actually laughable — or impressive, depending on your perspective. I’ve made it so, so, so far… and then gotten ghosted.
Am I guarded? Hell yes. But do I remind myself every day to stay optimistic? Of course.
Because what if I apply, I get called for an interview, and then they want a follow-up? Should I stay apprehensive during that limbo period? Or do I choose excitement, joy, optimism, hope?
I choose the latter. Even if the second step is a doozy, I was happy for that period of life, right?
If I keep waiting for everything to be just right, I might be waiting a lifetime.
So keep going — all of you. No matter what it is you’re working on. And seek to find some sparkle in the splatter. After all, you never know what’s in store ahead.
Life has a strange way of balancing its entropy — its measure of disorder. Sometimes I like to say:
Go ahead. Make it suck. Make it fucking unbearable. Because I want it to be so good one day I feel like I don’t deserve it.
