Updated: Mar 29, 2025
“The best way to look back at life fondly is to meet it—and those along your journey—warmly, kindly and mindfully.” — Rasheed Ogunlaru
Living mindfully isn’t easy. But what does it really mean? The best way I’ve found to explain it is through something simple: washing a dish. When you're washing a dish mindfully, you're focused solely on that act—the feel of the soap, the water, the texture of the dish in your hand. You’re in the moment. Nothing else exists.
Researchers have shown that multitasking actually reduces productivity. Our brains can only fully focus on one complex task at a time. Think about trying to write an email while on a call. You’re either focused on what you’re typing or what the other person is saying—not both. That can lead to mistakes, like sending the wrong message or missing key information. We know this, yet we multitask constantly.
I’ve always had intense focus. At work, I’d often ask for a few minutes to finish what I was doing before giving someone my full attention. Our time and presence are the most valuable things we can offer others. That’s something law school reinforces every day. Most of my time is spent reading, briefing cases, memorizing principles, and working through complex hypotheticals. It’s demanding, but it's the perfect environment for me to lean into that focus—and to learn how to better manage my time and energy. It’s daunting, but I hope all this effort leads to a fulfilling career… and not just a mountain of student debt.
Meanwhile, three months into this new administration, we're already seeing harmful impacts—especially on federal workers and those relying on social services. The chaos, censorship, and calculated distractions are deliberate. Policies that criminalize dissent are increasing. State secrets are being leaked on group chats while lawmakers focus on controlling who uses which bathroom. And let’s be honest: Pete Hegseth has a Yahtzee tattoo. It's not a metaphor. We are witnessing echoes of pre-Civil War America, Jim Crow, The Handmaid’s Tale, and 1930s Germany all wrapped up in red, white, and blue.
In the face of all this, we must be kind—to ourselves and to each other. Because no, we are not fine. And that’s okay to admit. There is no playbook for surviving a time like this. But I’m doing the best I can. When I look back on this moment in history, I want to feel proud of how I showed up.
As someone who has spent their life underestimated, marginalized, and dismissed, my advice to those waking up to this reality is simple: Keep pushing. Don’t stop until we win. They’re hoping we’ll give up. Let’s not be the ones who tire first.
Keep resisting. Keep existing. Keep pushing toward justice. When we look back, may we all feel good about our part in this fight. Because protecting democracy is one of the most American things we can do.
Lenten Reflection: Showing Up with Presence and Purpose 🕊️
"Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." — Galatians 6:2
This Lent, ask yourself:
🔹Am I meeting others along my journey with warmth, kindness, and presence?
🔹Where am I distracted, and how can I return to the moment?
🔹Who can I offer my undivided attention to today?
🔹How can I show up for others and for justice in ways that matter?
Being mindful isn’t just about stillness—it’s about showing up fully in the present, ready to act with love. Let us meet this world with courage, kindness, and conviction. That is our resistance. That is our offering. That is how we will look back and feel proud.
Take care of yourselves. And take care of each other.
📖 Read more at flanneldiaries.com (Link in bio)
“New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.” – Lao Tzu
We’ve passed the halfway mark of Lent. And I’ve done pretty well avoiding soda pop (minus that one time—but it might’ve been a Sunday, and we know Sundays don’t count). So here I am again, trying to make sense of life through the lens of Lent.
But I keep asking: do we really need to give something up to feel close to God—or to the Divine Spirit?
After a lifetime of disappointment with religious institutions, I’ve come to accept that I’ll probably never be part of a church again. Too much judgment. Too much hypocrisy. Too many people calling themselves “children of God” while behaving in ways that dishonor Christ’s message.
If you claim to be Christian but don’t know what Ash Wednesday or Lent is—and say it’s just “a Catholic thing”—you’re only Christian in name, not in practice. Lent is central to the Christian story. It’s the sacred lead-up to the Crucifixion and Resurrection—the arc that turns Jesus from a wise teacher into the Christ. Without the rising, Jesus is just another storyteller. But with it? Magical Jesus. Zombie Jesus. That’s the foundation of the Christian faith.
And yet, some of the loudest voices claiming Christianity are the furthest from living Christ-like lives.
Performative Christianity is a plague.
If you go to church every Sunday, tithe regularly, serve on committees—but ignore your neighbor in need, judge others harshly, or hoard power and privilege—you’ve missed the point entirely. Jesus didn’t climb social ladders or seek power. He turned over tables in temples. He broke bread with outsiders. He healed and fed and loved relentlessly.
If you’re not walking that talk, St. Peter might be a little judgy when you show up at the gates. Just saying. And no, you can’t bribe your way in. That’s in the Bible—if you’ve actually read it.
I may be blunt. I may not do pleasantries well. But I live my life with integrity, compassion, and a passion for justice. That’s how I practice my faith—not in performance, but in presence.
I don’t need a church to affirm I’m a good person. I know I’m a good person because of how I show up—for myself, for others, for the world. I honor the eight billion ways people believe, as long as those beliefs don’t cause harm.
We’re too busy trying to be liked while others are literally dying from a lack of love, food, shelter, and justice. We don’t need more polite smiles—we need more people who give a damn.
So I’ll keep walking this Lenten path, not because I need religion to tell me who I am—but because I believe transformation begins with truth. And truth begins with action.
Lenten Reflection: Faith in Practice, Not Performance
James 2:17 – “Faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”
This season is not about impressing others. It’s about drawing closer to what is sacred—through honesty, through humility, and through justice.
🔹 Where am I performing instead of transforming?
🔹 Who needs my action more than my words?
🔹 What would it look like to live out my beliefs in every part of my life?
Faith is not found in appearances. It’s found in how we love, how we serve, and how we show up when it matters most.
Take care of yourselves. And take care of each other.
📖 Read more at flanneldiaries.com
Updated: Mar 28, 2025
"We deserve to experience love fully, equally, without shame and without compromise." - Elliot Page
Growing up, I always had a big circle of friends—but a few, like John and Joe, held a deeper place in my heart. In high school, they were my closest friends—one loud, one quiet, both proud, beautifully chaotic gay men who became my chosen brothers. I used to joke that I wasn’t a very good lesbian because I was raised by feral gay men. It was true.
When I first came out at sixteen, I wasn’t hanging out at lesbian bars. I was sneaking into gay men’s clubs with a fake ID—don’t try this at home, kids. That scene? Remember, it's the late 90s in the Bay Area. It was awesome. Drama for days. Before I had my first girlfriend, I had already learned how messy queer love could be just from watching my boys cycle through scandal after scandal.
When I took Joe to junior prom, we weren’t fooling anyone. We were out. We were queer. And we were surviving in our own way.
Joe recently got married to the love of his life—and I couldn’t be happier for him. We lost touch for a while, like many of us do in our twenties. He moved to San Francisco. I moved to Berkeley. Life moved forward. But thanks to Facebook, we’ve reconnected, and I got to witness his joy. I also got to remember the chaos, the laughter, and how far we’ve all come. Thirty years ago, that kind of love wasn’t even legal. Congratulations, Joe. Love is love is love.
“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” – Ephesians 4:32
Isn’t forgiveness weird?
We don’t forgive to erase what happened. We forgive to let go of what we’re still carrying. Not for them—for us. Forgiveness is about reclaiming space in our hearts, in our bodies, and in our spirits. It’s about making peace with our own choices—even the ones that hurt. It’s about releasing the guilt of letting someone close enough to wound us.
Vulnerability requires trust.
You don’t hand over your heart to just anyone. You only bare your soul to someone who’s proven they can hold it. But sometimes, people wear masks. They come cloaked in promises of love, only to show you later that their love was conditional.
“If only you weren’t so… If only you could just…”
That’s not love. That’s manipulation. That’s control. Sometimes we confuse love with trauma bonds—because the pain feels familiar. But just because something is familiar doesn’t mean it’s safe. We get into relationships hoping someone else will fix what’s broken inside of us. We want to be seen, to be chosen, to be healed. But healing doesn’t happen when we give ourselves away to people who only want the version of us they can mold. We are not projects. We are people.
This society doesn’t make it easy to practice self-love or emotional honesty. It shames vulnerability. It punishes difference. It demands perfection while thriving off our insecurity.
But I’ve been doing the work. I’ve sat with my pain. I’ve named my patterns. I’ve stopped romanticizing emotional abuse. I don’t want to be loved for my potential. I want to be loved for who I am, today.
Mature love—real love—requires compromise, not coercion. Honesty, not gaslighting. Empathy, not expectation. We’ve all got scars. But scars aren’t a sign we’re broken—they’re proof we’ve healed before. Healing isn’t linear. It’s messy. It’s layered. Like skin forming under old emotional wounds. And sometimes, we keep picking at them—because they’re familiar. Because even pain can feel like home when it’s what we’ve always known. No. Not anymore.
I don’t want pain to feel like home.
My dad’s been gone for over fifteen years. I’ve carried more than enough hurt for a lifetime. It’s time to let that shit go.
Lenten Reflection: Letting Go of What No Longer Serves
Lent is about release. About surrender. Not to weakness, but to healing.
🔹 Who are you still carrying that you need to set down?
🔹 What part of your story still feels unfinished because forgiveness hasn’t found its way in?
🔹 What would it feel like to finally let go of guilt, of shame, of needing to be anyone but yourself?
God doesn’t love us because we are perfect. God loves us because we are real.
Let this season be your permission to let go—and to grow.
📖 Read more at flanneldiaries.com (link in bio).