hey mom,

happy birthday.

thank you for giving me life, love, and the tools to survive both. thank you for spending the majority of your existence in the shadow of mine, casting light on all of my bouts of darkness.

i’ve spent the past 28 years in awe of you, wondering how you do it all and hoping to one day get there myself. you are selfless and strong and i’ve yet to figure out how to be one or the other, much less both. for you, survival seems second nature; effortless and expected. you are a survivor, and for that, i am both proud and sorry. i’d like to see you be able to enjoy a little more and endure a little less. my wish for you is that in the years to come the universe will repay you in full for all the good you’ve done, for opening your heart to everyone and anyone that needed it, for showing me the kind of woman i don’t want to be and for being the perfect example of the kind of woman i can only dream of becoming.

i love you so much.

-tbrumm

Sometimes you have to take that 40 minute walk to work to remember why the fuck you do this shit – pay dumb expensive rent and race around this city with all the other rats looking for a crumb of success, fame, or just a smile from a passer-by. You just have to turn that new Chance the Rapper all the way up in your headphones and walk down 5th Avenue mouthing “fuck you, fuuuuck you, fuck, fuck you,” with a swag in your step and looking up. Because you haven’t done that since you moved here – looked up – both physically and emotionally. People will stare and you’ll get handed a million tour bus brochures, but you smile and you keep moving because that’s what you do. That’s what New Yorkers do. That’s what healthy, happy, people do. They keep fucking moving.

-tbrumm