Episode Details

On the eve of the lunar new year, three days before my birthday, I finally threw out the jagged glass pieces of a mug that I had broken six months ago.

I never thought it would take me six months to throw out a reminder of one of the worst nights of my life, but here I was.

I held it in my hands one last time.

I took a few pictures (even though I already had plenty.)

I outlined the pink handle and some of the remaining pieces that were still intact with a charcoal pencil on my tracing pad, in case I wanted to create an art project later. (I’ve been super into Oil Pastels lately.)

I carefully put the broken pieces in a plastic bag.

I broke the mug even further — deliberately this time, for catharsis.

And then I let every last piece go.

I can tell you why that broken mug was one of my favorites in one sentence —

Because it’s perfect.

It’s the definition of “pretty girl avenue”: a gorgeous glass mug with a bronze/gold Barbie dream house on the front, and a perfect pink handle. I drank out of it nearly every day from my waterfront patio in San Diego.

It also came in a set of two. I still have the other, identical, unbroken mug.

So why keep the broken one for six months?

Because of how it broke.

Here are a few things that happened in the 24 - 48 hours before the broken mug incident.

Taylor Swift got engaged, and my corner of the internet exploded.

I somehow managed to not to scream at the reception desk I was temping at, when my best friend’s sister texted me the news. It was the biggest explosion of girlhood. My fifteen-year-old self was bursting at the seams.

I wrote a spontaneous Substack piece about Taylor’s engagement, which went kind of viral thanks to threads.

It was easily my most successful post in over a year. (You can read it here.) I landed on the Substack rising bestseller list. I welcomed many new followers on Threads and Substack. My phone was buzzing nonstop with comments from people resonating with what I wrote + general excitement.

I was offered a new temp job that had serious potential to lead to something long-term.

It ended up not working out, which is fine because I didn’t really want the actual job— I wanted the consistent income. But the possibility of it at the time was very exciting. (Want to hear something even more exciting? I ended up getting multiple gigs that I liked more, that paid even MORE than the temp gig.)

My middle school bestie’s wedding was days away.

I was excited, and perhaps a little anxious. I was staying with an incredibly generous friend of hers, whom I had never met before. I knew that I likely wouldn’t know a lot of people there. I also hadn’t been out of New York since last December, after a year of whirlwind travel to and from California.

I had a bit of breathing room, financially, after being strapped for almost a year. Most of that money came from selling Hollywood Bowl tickets to see Jesus Christ Superstar. I was absolutely heartbroken, and I knew it was the right call. The tickets sold at the last minute, at a profit. I made my money back and then some. It was the biggest win I’d had in a pretty long time.

So, that’s what was happening on the surface. Under the surface, though?

The hardest summer of my life was finally coming to an end.

The summer I accepted money from a friend to afford my antidepressant medications.

The summer I paid for my groceries with $6 worth of quarters<