“Yo puedo hacerte feliz…”

I met my husband 29 June 2017. Halfway through our first date, breakfast at a French cafe’ on east 44th street in midtown Manhattan, he leaned across the table while I blushed crossing and uncrossing my legs (both of us dressed to the New York City nines, suits and frocks at 7am) and he stated, quite plainly in a husky, cigar-smoking Spanish accent that I drank like a green smoothie…

“I can make you happy.”

“… yo puedo hacerte feliz.”

Lately, I’ve been unplugged. My phone is usually off, I’ve been avoiding screens and keyboards at all costs. I have been lusciously embracing my latest new start.

Shout out to feminism and all of that. But I’ve always believed since I was a very little girl, one day a man would take care of me.

You see, in my opinion. Men are supposed to do that, take care of women. It’s not a question of if I can take care of myself – obviously. And to all of the women that want to spend their time proving this reality that women can support themselves and achieve independence, kudos. I’m pretty sure I’m in the 1% when it comes to doing that.

But what I really love, is my old school European husband. He’s saved thousands of children in wars (literally, I know it’s unbelievable). He speaks like five languages, yet he barely says a word to anyone.

… and all he wants to do it take care of me.

Si por favor, gracias papi…

I’m happy to still have my blahg up but my thoughts change daily because it’s essentially the only e-social element I still have around.

When I decided to explore the inter-web realm just about a decade ago, it was new and exciting. Now it’s old and tired. It was a fun and wonderful phase, and I know this is going to come out wrong, but…

I don’t care about it anymore.

You always return to your roots. My roots are love, trees and salt water. Considering this is my only window to the world, I’ve been asking myself what it’s for.

My friends appreciate FollowMeToNYC as one of my art projects. I like that view. But truth be told, I have grown to loathe social media and all of this electric advertising.

Considering I don’t need this blahg anymore, it served it’s purpose when I needed an outlet in between worlds, I don’t like how it feels.

These days I only want to whisper to the sky and roll in the sand. In the past ten years, the comparative culture that continues to erupt and thrive in all of these “look at me” outlets makes me sick.

I’ve always hated television, the Internet is a million times worse. As a communications executive, I was paid a lot of money to keep up and stay watching.

These days, all I want to look at are the stars, my husband’s eyes, or the puppies. Besides that… I’m good.

Boring people spill their shit, the most interesting people are silent. Invisible even.

Every day I become more invisible. Love to all of you who have kept up all of these years. Sooner or later I’ll put out another book. For now, this is my best advice:

Get rid of your electronics. Don’t just turn them off, throw them out. I’m moving to the island in a few days, I’ll only have a landline – no smart phone. I don’t think we’ll have internet at the new house. Just a lot of ink, love and secrets.

With all of the secrets I keep, this blahg was a challenge from the start. It was really fun and partially saved my 30s.

All of that was so long ago now, I’m more like what I was in my 20s. In love, spilling ink, silent and still.

Love to you, yours and ours. Thank you to everyone over the years. Here’s to happiness and truth. I’ve never had both so abundant before, and the surrounding silence has saved me – all over again. 3 x 3 x 3