When you stand on the beach, and feel the wave crash toward you and knock you down, that is the feeling of “whelm.” To submerge. To engulf. To bury.Continue reading “Whelm”
I’ve had this weird shift recently that has required an adjustment of attitude. I’m used to thinking of myself as being at the bottom of the hierarchy, as someone who doesn’t give instruction, but receives instruction.
Dear Reader, I’ve been thinking a lot about who I am as a person. I can list out the qualities of who I am, but lately I have been thinking about things like my lasting impact on the world, and whether I am living my values. So I asked myself the question: What kind of person do you want to be? Not just in 2017, but for the rest of your life. Here’s what I came up with:
Dear Reader, I have never done one of these before. But this has been a weird year. The election, as with every election cycle, took hold of my life, and in times of sorrow, it can be genuinely difficult to look at your own accomplishments and celebrate them. But I want to celebrate this year, and all the good bits of it.
WordPress recently reminded me that I started this blog in September of 2013, and I want to talk today about why I started this blog, for what purpose it continues to serve, and how I continue to push forward.
I want to live one thousand lives,
And do the things I dream to do.
I have been thinking a lot about this concept lately. I have been reading and rereading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, and she talks about this concept in her book, that the years will go by so fast, but the day to day feels like it drags along.
I didn’t know my life could hold such great a joy.
So I have moved out of my apartment in the town that I live in for college and to the state capital 2 hours away. Due to having nothing in this town except for a suitcase filled with clothes, I don’t really have a desire to spend time in my old apartment. I stay with friends in the same complex when I am here. Continue reading “Welcome Home”
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a story teller. I’d weave extra tales from story prompts at school and treasured school journal time. I wanted to write, but I wasn’t very good at it. I entered competitions in play writing and got the equivalent of a “C”. I hated myself over it. At 16, my family went to a get together. First to arrive, a family friend asked me what I wanted to be when I got older, and what I wanted to do in college.