What do you dream of?

Daydreaming to me isn’t resting my head against my finger tips sighing loudly and looking at a bright blue sky appearing cloudless (and most likely at a moderate temperature). It’s not the cliché version that is in sit-coms and cartoons. Most of the time it’s when I’m walking to my apartment, it’s in waiting for the next customer, or the seconds between crossing a street or when I’m restless in bed. Daydreaming has always been something I’ve done actively since I was a child. From terrifying nightmares to realistic futures to the childlike prayers.

Lately the streets have been filled with skirts and colorful jumpers, cut off pants, striped dresses and black leather sandals. The trees are suddenly three feet taller and full of green leaves and pink blossoms. Cafes, book stores and consignment shops have their windows and doors open and if you touch the pavement with your finger tips they just may burn. On occasion the sky is filled with grey and black clouds and the sun filled days release their hold and little droplets are kissing your forehead and shins as the water races into your socks. Dogs begin to bark and run their owners to shelter and, the cafes hurriedly close their doors. Sometimes while looking up you’ll notice a window on a fourth floor apartment winding open and green leaves leaking out it, soaking in the Tears of God or whatever you were told as a kid.

(In a less romantic way it’s fuckin’ summer in NYC so we’re getting day drunk and eating snacks on our unfurnished roofs.)

I’ve been dreaming of home and thats kinda always what I day dream of. The overbearing green trees, the kind old ladies I grew up with, knowing my neighbors across the street, the bench I use to warm at softball games (lol). I dream of a place where I was almost completely free. My summer morning runs, floating in my empty pool naked and listening to all the birds at 8 AM, really long drives, sometimes in silence and others in a packed car filled with tunes.

A quick backstory: My senior year of High school I lived in my empty childhood home. Well, partly empty, the only furnished room was my room and the couches in the living room. My father also stayed with me but, on weekends he was often gone for business (lots of parties) and everyday he was working until 5 or 6 PM. Growing up with 4 siblings and all of their friends in and out of the house THIS was a very different experience than theirs and,not what I expected for myself. It was quiet and in the small town I lived in, it felt quiet. Therefore, I had a lot of slow minutes, a lot of rebellion and a lot of solitude. In this time my relationship with my dad grew and I really began to understand him separately and not just as my dad. It was the first time my heart ever hurt because of someone else, it was the first time my dad saw me cry because I was sad and not because of some scrape on my knee. This year holds so much importance to me and because of that I often reflect on it.

With all of that being said, in times where the streets are overcrowded and when someone else’s sweat touches my arm or I can’t escape the sound of cars honking their horns, my ears close and I remember when I could feel my heart in my chest while running through the trails of North Carolina. I hear the crunch of the leaves under my sneakers as the seasons began to change, I can hear birds chirping to one another at 7:30 in the morning. The honking fades and suddenly I’m eating dinner with my dad trying to figure out where I was going to college or if I was even going to. The walkman appears across the street and I remember driving to my Nanny’s house peeking in the windows and eating watermelon on her vacant porch- trying to remember her voice.

Daydreaming for me is where I go when it becomes too loud, its where I go when I need to breathe air thats been recycled through trees and not exhaust pipes, when I need to remember my roots. Its the most important place to me and a place I don’t belong to right now but, often escape to.

What do you dream of?

Two Minutes Please!

There are certain occasions in our lives that feel like they’re moving in slow motion.
The last second in any sports event.
Thrillers, with their twists and turns.
Whenever I break someones mug/glass.
Hard conversations with people we love.
Procedures we’re awake for.

Basically, just events where the time is moving painfully slower than normal. When you’re physically watching the second-hand wiggle slowly to the next second. Becoming more and more anxious, more and more excited, more and more hopeful. Theres a specific result most women have found themselves waiting for that can lead to the agonizing two minutes of fear and a lot of self-reflection.

Pregnancy tests.
(que shrill scream)

I’m taking the time now to say that yes, I do acknowledge that for some women this is a beautiful experience that they’re happy and anxious to be a part of. But, in my experience and those I have interviewed it’s terror and a lot of pacing back and forth waiting for the second-hand to wiggle to the next second.

The other day I found myself in a foreign bathroom with headphones buzzing in my ears, I ripped open the pink package, bit the plastic off that surrounds the device and, threw the instructions into the trash. I looked at myself in the mirror waiting for the rush to be gone but, I quickly realized any solid seconds of clarity or stillness I had hoped for, passed me and weren’t coming back. From here until the end it was just chaos. Thoughts quickly overwhelmed my heart and brain while my knees shook and tears painted my cheeks. In a brief moment everything that was currently my present was put into question and, a film of the next 9 months was played in two minutes as my elbows rested on my knees waiting for results.My mind turned to him first, my parents second and me last.

Would our relationship even be able to survive an abortion/adoption or another human? Would he resent me? Where would we live? The arguments. How would it work? Would the thought of abortion crush him? What about his future? What about his career? Scarier thoughts followed. What if it worked? What if this is what he wants? What if our lives intertwined into this beautiful, picturesque, cinematic montage. With lots of hazy sunsets and slippery yellow slides. Wild grocery runs and funny dinners before falling asleep in our king size bed in our Brooklyn BROWNSTONE!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m telling you, full 2 1/2 hour movies of my life played with almost every possibility as a reality. My thoughts slithered through the rough conversations of me telling my parents,

“Here I am your inappropriate, unwed daughter giving you a grandchild. Also can you spare some change for a crib?”

Or the secret pregnancy that gave another family a child, or the secret $400 procedure that they’ll never know about. The secret the SECRETS!

My thoughts quickly returned home and I began to think about where I wanted to be. What do I want to be? Abortion is so physically difficult and mentally decapitating. Do I even have $400 dollars? What about my life of modeling, acting and writing? What about school? Would I even love this child? Could I be a good mother? Would this child be vegan? (lol) Would. I. be. happy? I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t have a child and, I can’t bear to give it away, abortion hurts.

What do I do? Thoughts of running away occurred, not actually but, mostly just getting out of that fucking bathroom.My skin was red and my body was sweating. The music abruptly faded out and the alarm sounded off in my ears. Two minutes.

I reached my arm up to the sink to flip the test over to see the results. I clumsily knocked it into the bowl and had to stand up to retrieve it. Standing in front of the mirror I looked down and saw the results resting by the sink drain. That moment of stillness I was waiting for occurred and every thought that I panicked over was forgotten.

Every false reality that was created was left in that two minutes, half-naked, with my elbows resting on my knees. The arguments with my lover, my family with him as a father, my mother crying, my father silent, my career disappearing, the needle going into my cervix, spaghetti covered dresses and boozy late nights, running away to Paris forgetting it all, nothing changing. Hm, nothing changing. I flushed the toilet, threw the test away, pulled my pants over my knees and left the tiled bathroom just as it was.


These agonizing tests and terror filled seconds overwhelmed me and overwhelm many women that have to take the test in times of uncertainty and confusion. Hopefully, this little bit paints an image of the ladies that are sitting in the bathrooms waiting. In the conversations and interviews I held with women to receive more insight, we all realized that we all have a story like this. Whether the end result is jumping up and down with the news of motherhood quickly approaching, leaving the foreign bathroom just as it was, contacting planned parenthood, or looking at pictures of couples and families. This little pact of womanhood, our little secret operation, of operating or non-operating reproductive systems that we all share is such an interesting whirlwind of experiences and emotions that I’m happy and lucky to be a part of.

Reaching out and being honest with others about things I am going through has really allowed me to receive such comforting and encouraging feedback. (and many warm hugs) Also, I just wanna say that most of the time these women (your friends, mom, sister etc) have gone through similar if not the same things. It’s fine to acknowledge that you’re afraid but also acknowledge that talking to someone you love and trust can make the situation seem less chaotic.


My Little Place

There’s a specific place that I really enjoy spending time at lately, I discovered it through the social web and I can’t stay away. They have a very interesting set-up. From 7-5 they serve coffee, delicious pastries, in-house soups and filling sandwiches. Accompanying the food and coffee menu is a nice selection of wine and beer. From 5-12 the bustling morning cafe filled with writers, readers, students and those catching up, transitions into a candle lit, quaint bar.

The first time I was there I sat through the transition. Watching the staff light white candles and set them in the middle of the tables, hearing the music grow louder and louder.

The classic wood tables are reminiscent of my grandmothers kitchen table that held my morning eggs and drips of butter pecan ice creme. The floor to ceiling windows and peculiar seating allow you to enjoy the street view of an unfamiliar part of Chinatown. In New York finding a place that delivers amazing coffee and delicious in house food and, pastries is pretty difficult considering there are a lot to weed out. Not to mention the tourists don’t attract here therefore, most of the people here are local which is even more exciting.

Every now and then I would peek up from my notebook or laptop and I’d forget where I was, I’d forget that I was in Manhattan. Through the large glass windows you see fully grown trees covering any evidence of tall city buildings. The abundance of vinyls and random antique decor remind you of a modern take on the late 60’s or early 70’s. This place takes you away, to a place of stillness, romance, and exciting conversations. Its a house for all of those conversations and thoughts that are otherwise disturbed by the tourists or the big attractions that are hard to miss in a city like this.

A friend of mine went with me the very first time and we spent hours working on our creative outlets and chatting in-between. When the sun set and the candles were placed in the middle of the tables we put our books and pens away, shared glasses of wine, booze and had drowsy romantic conversations. We browsed the menu of pastas and cheese platters and decided against the offerings and left. We walked around Manhattan in the empty streets of forgotten parts of the city. The roads were lit with lamps that were blurred by the mist from the earlier rainfall and, we talked and walked down foreign streets the remainder of the night. Blushed and carefree.

Whenever I think of my little place, my “Little Canal”-I associate this sweet memory of this wonderful night that started in a bright, airy cafe that reminds me of my Grandmothers kitchen but, with nicer furniture and better music. I found my sweet little escape and I cant wait to spend more mornings, beginnings of romantic evenings and escapes from the annoyances of day to day life here in this sun filled home.

And HEY, it only took 8 months.

Windowless Bathrooms


The time that I spent living in Salt Lake City was quite brief. Just one hot summer with two amazing friends. I was working two jobs and just picked up a third, working in a coffee shop at the mouth of the canyons. Safe to say I was pretty tired, almost ALL of the time.

The apartment I lived in was quite old. It was historically the first apartment complex in Salt Lake City and because of that, it had a lot of quirks and a lot of character. The bathroom was especially interesting, the shower head was about four feet tall, requiring a slight bend at the knee in order to effectively shower. The tile was a tealish green and always sweating, wetting my heels and toes. The teal tile led up to a large window that stretched across one wall, overlooking a private school and the entire valley. Our apartment didn’t have air conditioning so in the summer, to avoid a fourth floor sauna, we’d sleep with the windows open. Laughs and cries of the children playing on the playground before school would echo into my bedroom, awaking me before I actually had to wake up. (Sounds pretty creepy now that I think about it).

I would crawl out of bed leaving my (ex) boyfriend and my puppy sleeping soundly, limbs and faces hanging outside of the covers to catch the cool breeze. Half-asleep, I was shuffling throughout the apartment doing my morning routine, with taps of Clyde’s paws hitting the hardwood floor behind me. I’d start with eating frozen strawberries and granola at the table, then sitting in the sunroom and playing tug-o-war or fetch with Clyde. Finally I’d hop in the shower entering the sunlit bathroom overlooking the school and the rest of the sleeping valley. The hot water rinsing down and off my body would create a cloud of steam, rising into the cracked ceiling kissing my upstairs neighbors floorboards.

There is something so captivating, so nostalgic about this particular time in my life. This one random very hot summer spent in Apartment 80. Living in New York (the place I’ve dreamt of living for years) I yearn and crave that window. Solitude. Easily escaping discomfort. Stillness. That still frame of my life, the times I spent in the cramped shower, seeing Clyde’s tail wagging back and forth underneath the shower curtain. Clyde’s rough spotted tongue licking off all the excess water as it puddles beneath me. My toes wiggling in the grout of the tile while getting chills from the opened window. Quiet.

Living in this wonderful city of ever-changing environments and thousands of people, the one thing I miss the most and the one hardest adjustment for me is windowless bathrooms. My morning routine today consists of me stumbling out of bed at 4:30 A.M and commuting the hour to work. There isn’t an overly crowded bed that I’m leaving, the sun isn’t awake, Clyde isn’t patiently waiting for me to leave the shower and more importantly there isn’t a moment that isn’t spent with other people. Even at 5 A.M there are people lingering outside of Bodegas as I walk down the street to work.

Where and how do I find my moments of stillness? My moments of bliss?

New York has taught me to find solitude in those spaces and places where you actually aren’t alone. It’s taught me to APPRECIATE windows in bathrooms but, also appreciate the little moments of solitude I find myself in.Whether I’m physically alone or not. It’s riding the very few above ground subways into Brooklyn, it’s spending time at my favorite cafe/bar, dancing in my kitchen to “The National” when both of my roommates are working, it’s sitting in the sauna at my gym singing.

Moving here, to this amazing city hasn’t taught me a life of luxury its taught me how to live a life of loneliness, and how to live a fast paced life while also counting the seconds in-between. Right now thinking about those seconds in-between is the only thing keeping me sane while enduring my first New York winter. The only thing keeping me sane.

Here we go

yeaWELL everyone, here we are its January 2018 and I’ve started a blog. It’s a strange time we’re all living in and it differs dramatically than the one we dreamt of when we were younger. I’ve never been one for “New Years resolutions” or the “new year, new me” but, I can say there is something quite satisfactory about the start of a new day, a Monday, a new month and well, a new year.

For those of you that don’t know me or do know me but don’t “know” me which is frankly more common nowadays. Here is a little information for you about my life.

My name is Sarah Jacqs. I am 20 years old living in Brooklyn, New York with a daily commute to Manhattan for work. At nineteen years old I hopped on a plane to New York. I left my serious relationship, my entire family, my cheap apartment and most of my belongings (only bringing a suitcase and my pillows). Let me tell you, I had a rough beginning but time has been forgiving and I’m truly blossoming in the new world I’m still creating.

Walking around Manhattan and Brooklyn is most likely my favorite hobby aside from writing. In New York, a walk down a couple of blocks or a quick subway ride and suddenly, I’m in a completely different world. That’s my favorite part of living here so far. I fall in love with people dangerously easily, I enjoy black coffee and, I am TERRIBLE at saving numbers and remembering people’s names. My laugh is uncontrollable and I’ve noticed lately that all of my jeans have stupid holes in the knees or other weird places. I love all kinds of flowers and plants and get giggly and turn into a child whenever I dwell in an environment where I’m surrounded by them. So if you ever want to make me smile, well anything with a leaf or thorn would be much appreciated and loved. I’m not the best at finishing books and by that I mean I never finish them BUT, I’ll read most of it and then talk about them as if I finished it. This last year I’ve really claimed my womanhood and taken hold of my title as a woman and what that means to me; not to other people. Often in times of discomfort and conflict I’ll repeat my mantra “I’m a goddamn woman” (and yes it makes me feel 10x better). I moved to New York as a dreamer and I’m still dreaming ya see.

So why did I decide to begin this blog? My goal is to use this website as a funnel for my personal life and experiences, my Brooklyn and Manhattan outings, interesting current events, my poetry/prose, pop-culture I’m interested in and most of all a place to share a piece of my life with all of you. The truth is, the everyday life of Sarah Jacqs is slightly entertaining in its clumsiness and curiosity whilst discovering little New York. I’ve come here to document the amusing moments on subways, the melancholy thoughts in my mind and the ups and downs of the everyday life of a regular shmegular woman.

(Hopefully a lot more ups than downs.)