Have you read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3? If not, I recommend doing so!
So, what does a girl do after the worst panic attack of her life leads to a broken mug, a surprising amount of clarity, and a new song?
She stays up all night so that she won’t miss her early morning flight, and then takes her first flight in forever to Missouri, for her middle school bestie’s wedding.
It was absolutely beautiful. I cried a lot.
While I was on the trip, I got a lead on an even better opportunity than the new temporary job I was originally excited about back in Part 1.
That fall, between the new gig(s) and some unexpected money, I was able to start paying off my credit card debt.
Suddenly, I could afford to go to happy hour with my friends again. We came in second place at Broadway trivia.
I had energy again. I started having fun again.
I came super close to falling in love, but got my heart broken instead.
I saw Dylan Mulvaney’s epic solo show three times. I told her about the guy who broke my heart. She said he sounded like a coward. I can’t help but agree. She also inspired the name, The Nuance Diaries, and I got to tell her about that, too.
I went viral on Substack again, with another essay referencing - but not about - Taylor Swift.
I developed a multi-step skin care routine, which I have now fallen off of (but I don’t feel too bad about it because the girls at Sephora are always gagged when I tell them I’m 31.)
All the while, I kept the broken mug. To this day, I am still fascinated by it. It feels like a relic from the dark age I’d survived.
And yet, when Lunar New Year came around, and I read that broken glass was bad luck, I knew that it was time to part with the broken mug for good.
I took a few last pictures - and even traced the handle to make an abstract drawing.
I also broke it even more before throwing it out — for catharsis. I couldn’t find my hammer, so I used the handle of a screwdriver 😂
Ironically, as I was finishing this piece, I came across even more broken glass; a container of leftovers slipped out of the refrigerator and onto the floor. The glass shards looked so much like ice, scattered among spaghetti noodles and marinara sauce. I was once again fascinated.
I thought about taking a picture of the icy shards in the dustpan. I wondered what symbolism this moment might hold — another sign about the beauty of broken things?
Maybe. Probably. Who am I to fight the alchemy?
And then I thought,
Is there such a thing as too much alchemy?
I swept the glass away and threw it out.
I used to listen to a song called Broken Glass all the time when I was living in Portland, Oregon. Another wild chapter. A story for another time.
The first week or so I was there, I took this very dramatic walk over a highway every day, to get my coffee from a Starbucks inside a huge grocery store.
Was there a closer coffee shop? Probably. Could I have found something similar to (or better than) my cinnamon dolce latte? Definitely. But that’s not the choice I made at 22 years old.
I was living across the country by myself for the very first time. It somehow felt scarier than being in London by myself. I needed my familiar comforts — like cinnamon dolce lattes.
(My therapist also totally validated this for me years later. I had a panic attack after Trader Joe’s was out of my favorite creamer for 3 days. She said it was because one of the few constants in my life was ripped away. Yes, I was going through it.)
I feel like the universe sent me all kinds of signs through my favorite songs, inside that grocery store with the Starbucks. Whoever made those weekday morning playlists had excellent taste.
But on the way to the grocery store, I was the DJ. And every morning, like clockwork, I played Broken Glass by Rachel Platten.
There was something so 90s music video about crossing a highway while blasting the lyrics “I’m on a highway full of red lights.”
But I feel it changing. I can taste it,
I’m on the wave, I won’t waste it
I have been patient, but I’m not waiting anymore
I’m gonna dance on broken glass
I’m gonna make that ceiling crack
So what? still got knives in my back. So what? So I’m tied to the tracks
I’m gonna dance on broken glass. Here I go, here I go
You know what’s crazy? I have probably listened to that song over 100 times in the last decade, and it has only just now occurred to me that the broken glass is from the glass ceiling she’s going to crash.
What other glass would she be referring to, Alexa??
I don’t know!!! I guess I was too stuck on the symbolism of dancing on broken glass to connect it to a literally cracked glass ceiling mentioned one line later. I was an A+ English nerd, but I was also 22.
I think the broken mug marked the beginning of my dancing on broken glass era.
After the hardest year of my life, I was remarkably broken and yet still intact.
Both/and.
I have come a damn long way, and I am unbelievably proud of how I carried myself through the last year — the last few years, honestly.
And for the first time in maybe 17 months,
I have enough white space in my brain and ground beneath my feet to think about what comes next.
What do I want? What do I want to happen? Who do I want to be?
What I’ve been through is part of my story, but not all of it.
I’m ready to add some more notches to my belt, beyond damn tough survivor and broken glass dancer.
There’s this invisible step at the end of the list, outside the traditional trajectory of healing.
You get through the hard thing. You realize you’re a survivor. You get to breathe again.
And then…
You let yourself want things again.
You do things for fun again.
You dream big dreams again.
You take risks again.
You learn to trust yourself again.
I’m doing all of that now.
It feels like a reunion with myself. An unapologetic, wilder yet calmer version of myself.
I’m not that 22-year-old girl walking across a highway in Northeast Portland.
Nor am I the 29-year-old who spent one weekend in San Diego before uprooting her whole life to live by the beach.
I’m not the 30-year-old woman who fought tooth and nail for her sanity (and often lost the battle) while making financial sacrifices she never thought she’d have to make.
To the shock of the girls at Sephora who tell me I look much younger — I’m 31.
And while my past selves will always be with me…
It’s time to thank them and sweep up the broken glass they broke through to get me here.
Cheers to beginning anew, entering the next chapter of my life, and finding out just how good it can get.
Thank you so much for checking out this series!
I hope you’ll hit subscribe, stick around, and stay tuned for what’s next.
And if you yourself could use some support in figuring out what’s next, I’m always here to chat.
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Here's a testimonial from one of my past clients:
Prior to beginning life coaching with Alexa, I had a full-time job in healthcare IT where I experienced a lack of meaning in my interactions with clients. At that point, had been teaching yoga after work for several years, and found myself wanting to pursue it more seriously. This was right as I was beginning to experience a stronger desire to travel, something I had not done much of previously.
By the time I completed my coaching with Alexa, we created a clear plan for leaving my IT job, combining yoga teaching and travel for the span of one year through work exchange programs at various resorts, and all the steps in between.
As that year of travel has now come to a close, I realize I could not have done it without Alexa’s coaching. The year that we planned together was the best year of my life, and I am so grateful to have had the space to dream and plan it out.
-Marc
