Sometimes you need a dark, decadent thriller. You know it’s not going to inspire any earth-shattering bits of wisdom or provide you with groundbreaking insights into the human mind. It’s just, well, thrilling, as you flip from page to page, rushing to outwit the author and figure out whodunnit before the big reveal at the end.
There’s that tension building up inside of you. With each frustration, it mounts. You tell yourself it’s not a big deal, it’s nothing, and then — bam! — you’re seething, and you’ve got to tell someone, anyone, what a colossal frustration you’re forced to put up with.
Maybe that’s not you at all. Maybe you’re a perfectly well-adjusted human who deals with annoyances head-on, or never gets annoyed. Can we meet up for coffee sometime so you can teach
I’ve never been peach picking. I only eat peaches two or three times a year, max. So it only makes sense that when a friend suggested we drive an hour out to a farm in New Jersey to fill baskets with peaches that’d go bad in a week if I didn’t eat them immediately, I said, “OMG, yes! How’s Saturday?!”
I’d figure out what to do with those peaches later, as I stared at a massive serving bowl overflowing with 40 of the fuzzy fruit. My friend, Meggy, had 63.
The most fascinating thing about people is the second you think you’ve got them figured out, they go and surprise you. I’ve always been the journaling type, so for years, I’ve analyzed interactions — with friends, coworkers, family, even acquaintances on the street — trying to understand how I am the way I am, and well, why others are the way they are.
With time, I’ve learned one (highly unscientific and entirely anecdotal) truth: Every person seems to be either
Lately, I’ve noticed a string of thought-driven, semi-boho (and, perhaps, largely Anthropologie-inspired) shops popping up, and I couldn’t love them more. I like finding presents with personality; things that speak to me and have a message behind them, a story to tell. That’s how I feel about these brands, which have become my go-to’s when looking for unexpected gifts for people. Or, you know, my own #treatyoself moments.
Often, faith-based stores are a little too treacly
This advice is going to sound totally counterintuitive, though in today’s self-care age, any advice that hopes to crash through the noise of our day-to-day life (and the clickbait-y internet), generally is. For years, I’ve been chasing success. It’s been the gold star that validates me, the thing I push toward every day, because honestly, what’s wrong with taking pride in what you do, and wanting to get better?
But, this little semantics-based essay in Rob Bell’s
As temperatures climb past 90 — when it’s so scorching your clothes get damp with sweat within minutes of walking outside and garbage cans are literally melting under the sun — finding the motivation to exercise can be nearly impossible.
Well, with this new kind of race, your motivation will be restored. It’s called the Liquid Run, and it’s a gigantic floating obstacle course assembled right on the shore. Think of it like
Something about me loves feeling “capable” — that sure, I can take on that extra project, I can organize that party, I can tack that on to my to-do list. There’s a high from feeling efficient, responsible, for just getting it done. And plus, when you do it yourself, you know it’s done the way you want it.
How full of myself does that sound?! And the reality, honestly, is that the more I take on, the less efficiently or thoroughly I do any of it. It’s a rut I
Lately, it seems like words wash over me more than I absorb them. My mind feels fractured; even when I think I’m fully present, I find that any lull makes me want to reach for my phone, check that notification, or think up how I’ll respond to that email I really need to send, ASAP.
There’s such a push to be everywhere, doing everything, that it can be hard to unplug — and as a result, we’re
It was a simple enough statement — the kind you could easily overlook in a conversation — but it shot right through me, taking me from “how isn’t it?” to “whoa, wait — we need to talk through this” in a matter of seconds. It was a simple one-liner, but one I won’t forget any time soon.
“Forgiveness is not reconciliation.”
The statement didn’t make sense to me first. Wasn’t reconciling your differences a key part of forgiving