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
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
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
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
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
Since Florida’s developed a reputation for being the ‘stranger than fiction’ state (see: the FL man Twitter account for all the evidence you’ll ever need), I cringe when I see a novel that’s set there. Often, they’re written by people who’ve visited the state on a few family vacations, who need a creepy-crazy-yet-still-familiar backdrop for whatever they’re writing, so it becomes an over-the-top
As part of my challenge to talk to people from all backgrounds, with all kinds of beliefs, I’ve had a few conversations lately about writing letters to Congress. I’ve seen big, multi-page missives, short and succinct postcards, and everything in between, which got me wondering: What types of letters truly resonate? What gets through to a Senator or Congressman/Congresswoman, who’s dealing with dozens of issues — and thousands of constituents, not to mention lobbyists and
Katy Perry gave me a colossal wake-up call on Saturday. And she did it using a tiny hamster and even tinier food.
On Friday, Perry released her latest lyric video for her new song, “Chained to the Rhythm.” At first, it — and the video itself — are poppy, upbeat and lighthearted. Just like the popular YouTube series, someone’s making miniature burgers, spaghetti and tacos for a hamster in a little playhouse, all set to electro-dance beats, complete with a follow-the-bouncing-hamster-emoji
As much as I cringe at the thought of writing new year’s resolutions, I come up with a few (okay, sometimes several) every January, and 2017 is no different. I just carefully dodge the word ‘resolution,’ as if by calling it some other name, I won’t doom it to an early grave by Jan. 12th. Oddly enough, that often works*, but not because of the name change.
It’s largely because I get geeky with it, designing and printing out a card that I hang on my wall — no,