I write essays in my head to fall asleep.
“The flapper is deceased.” –Zelda Fitzgerald,1922
While the jazz age priestess, may have written in a painterly fashion throughout her career she was speaking with great candor, there really was never such a thing as a flapper. Fitzgerald added, “I am assuming that the Flapper will live by her accomplishments and not by her Flapping.” Again, she penned the truth.
When in a collective, memories, thoughts, and hopes seem like pieces of a heart beating together. I have listened to so much much over the course of 2019, which became more of a period of growth than an actual year to me, and within it I collected lyrics that felt special.
With the ten-year anniversary of December 9th closing in, my eyes saw the groove ahead of me while I still sat in August. Something about ten years makes it seem like a massively long time ago but still yesterday. The ages of fourteen and twenty-four are so far apart, but still so close together.
ainting people will always end in pain for ourselves or those we’ve painted.
An external pressure leading me to try to achieve goals that were not of my own making had me feeling so incredibly incapable, off-path, and unworthy. A transformational thought fell into my mind one day and I let it sit there and knew that a time of change was a-coming.
Tomorrow is my birthday and today I’m thinking back to the best birthday gift I ever received wasn’t tied up with a bow, and it wasn’t given once but it again and again until it became a part of me.
Saying "no" can feel so good. Comfort is what we cherish as humans, and sometimes to find that we avoid what scares us, makes us anxious or nervous, or just feels unachievable.
Avoidance can't serve you, willingness to take on what you previously believe you couldn't can.
The other day though I was staring at my screen pages of notes in front of me and I knew I just needed to start writing when my coworker who isn't a writer said, "Writing is hard, I know."
I didn't even process my response when I said quickly, and hopefully not too rudely, "Writing isn't hard thinking is." Once you start writing natural instinct kicks in and you let your hands become extensions of your brain tracing across the keyboard working out your thoughts as you go.
I knew one day I would have to tell the tale of the time I spoke at my college graduation and I never wanted that day to come.
Oddly enough, I, Maggie Lynch did not read until first grade. I could read, I knew how to read, but I didn’t want to read…until I really, really, wanted to read and then I didn’t stop. Below are some of my favorite books, the most important books of my life, and I may say that my recommendations hold the weight of the Oprah book club seal.
When I was little, I was terrified of growing up because I thought that minutes disappeared after they happened. If I was six, I never got to be six again, and my happiness and sadness of that year fell into a void.
I don't think I've ever been as real I am now that I approach 24. I have seen tiny changes in my life and myself add up as I approach 24 and complete yet another year.
Hi my name is Maggie, and I have panic attacks, but most of you probably know that by now. A lot in my life has changed lately. In the past year, I graduated college, got a job, started traveling, and arguably most importantly started to recover from my debilitating anxiety for no one but myself.
My dear friend Zelda and I met in the underground corners of the library in February, she was dressed in a worn rose pink canvas shell and I in my most artistically charged flannel. In the energetic period of my life I gazed at her home amongst the stacks like it was carved ancient wood instead of beige metal. Embossed in gold type her spine read, Save Me the Waltz and we danced to the north corner of the basement where a like-minded soul had pushed a chair away from the aggravated typing of liberal arts academics.
For the past six months I’ve walked with purpose, with prowess, with anxiety, without aim, without contention, and with the people among me on the sidewalk past, present, and future on the streets of Chicago.
My all-time, all-star, favorite podcasts to keep you smiling and thoughtful
This is the story of my parents losing a six-year-old me in a museum and me not even noticing.
“Alright Mags, once and for all what is up with the star obsession?”
I’m so glad you asked, though I’m not going to tell you. I have gotten this question, in various forms, so often and given so many different answers. There is one answer, one true answer, but that’s for me.
After arriving early to the station, I waited while herds of people joined me on the platform. The mass of humanity reminded me of the herds of antelopes I had seen in elementary school textbooks, except these antelopes were holding coffee cups.
In 8th grade, I excitedly told my mom about the squid I dissected at the aquarium as part of a field trip I took with my marine life science elective. My best friend and I took the class together and we loved it. Our friendship that year involved a lot of discussion about Grey’s Anatomy, a show that was still in its early seasons, and how we wanted to be doctors. I mean, like, we were really cool, definitely not huge nerds. It was a year later though that I ditched a class for the first time ever after having a panic attack in Freshmen biology.
