White Space Monday

Coming to you from Rabbit Hole du Jour.

There’s a lot I want to tell you today. I’m going to have to edit. But let’s dive in, and see where this goes.

1. A couple of weeks ago, I messaged Laura, who helps me with email and the general scatter-brained-ness that comes with being a highly creative, analytical, ADHD-plagued human in the year of our Lord 2025, where there are more distractions in any given hour than there are atoms in the universe. “I need my Mondays,” I said, explaining that for some reason, the need to ease into the week was crashing down on me. She agreed, encouraged me to finish current commitments, and clear the calendar for future Mondays, so I could find my creative energy before heading into the week. Her response not just understanding, but deeply affirming. This conversation reminded me that boundaries aren't just walls we put up - they're foundations we build upon. For several weeks, my now-empty Mondays have been life-giving.

2. Have I told you the story about Rush Week, at Oklahoma State University, in 1998? I don’t think I’ve told you the whole thing. The short version was that I desperately wanted to be a Pi Phi, because all the mamas I had babysat for over the years had been Pi Phis, and basically, I wanted to be just like them. Unfortunately (I hate using that word, but, you’ll see, it’s appropriate here), my grades had tanked during the second semester of my freshman year, and since I was rushing as a sophomore, no good Panhellenic organization was interested in having me pull down their collective GPA. I was cut from all my top choices on day one, save the Pi Phis. I think all those mamas’ rec letters did something for me there. Also, it probably helped that one day one, the girl I was paired with and I had talked about my love for musicals—definitely a plus, given the annual Spring Sing competition. What didn’t do anything for my eligibility, however, was that on day two, I ended up talking about computer coding with the girl I’d been paired with. This was the nail in the coffin. Why do I bring this up now? Why has this story stuck with me? Because it represents something deeper than just a failed attempt to join a sorority. In that moment, I realized that part of me was seen as incompatible with the image I was trying to project—the girl who would be accepted by the group. Looking back, it was one of the first times I clearly witnessed how being genuinely myself could close certain doors. I’ve never been good at faking it (I should also tell you about the time I tried out for a play in college), so this created a problem.