Showing posts with label words for the heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label words for the heart. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

"I will keep it safe."

Lately I’ve been spending a good part of nearly every day thinking about love.  Romantic love. The kind of love that involves french kissing and mix tapes and spooning in New York City in the summer when it’s by most people’s standards too disgustingly humid to spoon. The kind of love you wanna bring home to your grandma and say, “Grandma, look at this love! Just look at this LOVE!” 
Lately I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be…….and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this:  Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe.  I will keep it safe.  -Andrea Gibson

Tweet Pin It Now!

Thursday, August 28, 2014

You will never be merely 'pretty.'

This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, “Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?” I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer, “No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters.

You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you, will never be merely ‘pretty’.

Kate Makkai, “Pretty”
Tweet Pin It Now!

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Embracing the Painful Truths

In what seems like a mere flash, I am now twenty+five. I feel as though I blinked at the age of twenty+three and reopened my eyes right into the present. Twenty+four was a blur, but this is not a post about my inability to process the speed at which the years are passing. This is a post written I read on Thought Catalog (among many that have struck a chord in my heart) and wish I could say I had written myself. But, sadly, I did not. The lessons I wholeheartedly agree with, however, and it's wisdom I think should be spread far and wide. 

Without further adieu...

23 Painfully True Lessons You Learn By Age 23, by Sage Michaels || Thought Catalog

1. You are not your failures or rejections. You are not the boy who couldn’t love you, the job you couldn’t get, the school who wait-listed you.

2. You are, however, your passions, your convictions and the company you keep.

3. Blocking toxic people out is hard, healthy and needed. You may regret blocking people out. But you will ultimately rejoice in a toxic-free life.

4. You are unique, and your experience with people is unique. Your relationships can never be repeated, replaced; only remembered.

5. Have the courage to be yourself all the time.

6. Show your love. Especially to your parents. We are all living on borrowed time, don’t waste the moment you could have said, “I love you, Mom and Dad.”

7. Don’t be the life of a pity party. No one enjoys the tear-stained favors or melancholy attitude.

8. Trust your intuition. Period.

9. Know when to fight. More importantly, know when to walk away. And keep walking.

10. Never regret speaking your mind and respecting yourself. Even if it compromises your reputation, your relationships or “looking psycho”. Never regret loving yourself enough to call out people who don’t.

11. She’s no you. And you aren’t her either. So stop comparing yourself, there is no comparison.

12. You can only overcome self-harm with self-love.

13. You were created to be something magnificent. Honor that.

14. Continue to be outspoken. Some will find it scary, some will find it sexy, but you will find it liberating.

15. You may not have the person you want, but you have your integrity. Hold onto it. It will get you through difficult periods with grace and poise. Don’t succumb to low levels of revenge and desperation. Continue to be dignified even when it seems unfair or unresponsive.

16. Before you do something, question your motives. We all have demons but we all have a responsibility to tame them before they turn into our monsters.

17. If you apologize, mean it.

18. Be good to the ones who are good to you.

19. God will speak to you through other people, dreams, and music. Listen.

20. We have so many different chapters in this lifetime. People are not meant to be “main characters” throughout our story. That doesn’t mean we won’t find our happy ending.

21. Some people will take you for granted. Some will emotionally abuse you. This is their problem. Unfortunately you will be casualty in someone’s personal battle, but again, this is their problem.

22. It is never too late to change and grow.

23. Forgive. Forgive your enemies and forgive yourself.
Tweet Pin It Now!

Thursday, June 12, 2014

"These things are your becoming."

Your assumptions about the lives of others are in direct relation to your naïve pomposity. Many people you believe to be rich are not rich. Many people you think have it easy worked hard for what they got. Many people who seem to be gliding right along have suffered and are suffering. Many people who appear to you to be old and stupidly saddled down with kids and cars and houses were once every bit as hip and pompous as you.

The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.

One Christmas at the very beginning of your twenties when your mother gives you a warm coat that she saved for months to buy, don’t look at her skeptically after she tells you she thought the coat was perfect for you. Don’t hold it up and say it’s longer than you like your coats to be and too puffy and possibly even too warm. Your mother will be dead by spring. That coat will be the last gift she gave you. You will regret the small thing you didn’t say for the rest of your life.
Say thank you.
Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things

Tweet Pin It Now!

Thursday, June 5, 2014

On why the 'OCD should be CDO' joke isn't funny and other misunderstandings about OCD

When I came across the following satirical piece I wanted to climb on the nearest chair and slow clap. What a brilliant way to express what it feels like when your suffering is misunderstood, seemingly minimizing it. I wrote a piece on just that. You can read it here.

New Strain of “Super OCD” Sweeping the Nation 
By Holly Tousignant || The Toast 

Experts across the country are warning that America is in the throes of a new mental health epidemic. Over the past decade, psychologists have reported record numbers of those who suffer from being, like, suuuuper OCD - and the figures are only getting worse.

“Super OCD” is not to be confused with textbook obsessive compulsive disorder, which can be characterized by unwanted compulsive rituals and disturbing intrusive thoughts that detract from one’s quality of life. Rather, those who are super OCD report experiencing symptoms that include adherence to conventions of basic human hygiene and really liking their pencils to be sharp.

“It’s a nightmare,” said Amy Smith, whose harrowing journey to acceptance began when she took an online quiz that one time which gauged her reaction to disturbing images like crooked pictures and floor tiles that don’t match up.

“When I see something that is uneven, it kind of bugs me. Almost no one else feels this way; I am very unique,” Smith confessed. “I’m able to forget about the uneven thing as soon as I look away, but for those few seconds the mild displeasure is overwhelming.”

Jane Lee first suspected she was super OCD after she spent a leisurely afternoon alphabetizing her collection of cookbooks. Her fears were confirmed when a co-worker wore mismatched socks to the office and she felt compelled to look away.

“I’ll be out with friends and everything is going fine, and then something will happen - someone will drop a slice or pizza or spill wine down my shirt, so I’ll say ‘better clean that up.’ And everyone will just go silent,” Lee said. “It’s like the elephant in the room.”

Lee experienced the stigma associated with the illness firsthand when her cousin Jen, who has conventional obsessive compulsive disorder, suggested that Lee was not, in fact, super OCD.

“For some people mental illness means debilitating panic attacks and uncontrollable, repetitive actions, and for others it means preferring your jackets face the same way in your closet,” Lee said. “It’s a spectrum.”

Psychiatrist Dr. Frank Black studies the disorder and deems himself a pioneer in the field. According to Black, super OCD is still considered a fringe issue, with many health professionals unwilling to classify it as “something that exists.”

“Some of my colleagues would define mental illness as that which ‘interferes with people’s lives,’ but I think that’s a narrow-minded way of looking at things,” he said. “I had this one patient who would sometimes double-check that he’d locked his car. The seconds it took for him to do that are seconds he’ll never get back.”

Black has dedicated his career to developing treatment strategies for patients like Amy and Jane, and he hopes other brave sufferers will continue to come out of their immaculate closets and seek the therapy they need.

“If I can help even one person hang their blue sweaters next to their red sweaters, I know I’ll have done my job.”

Tweet Pin It Now!

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Her words live on. || RIP Maya Angelou

April 4, 1928 - May 28, 2014

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? 
Why are you beset with gloom? 
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? 
Bowed head and lowered eyes? 
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you? 
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you? 
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

And how lucky we are that she left us with her wisdom.
Tweet Pin It Now!

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

"too much."

do you remember the first time you were
called annoying?
how your breath stopped short in your
the way the light drained from your eyes,
though you knew your cheeks were ablaze
the way your throat tightened as you tried
to form an argument that got lost on your
your eyes never left the floor that day.
you were 13.

you’re 20 now, and i still see the light fade
from your eyes when you talk about your
interests for “too long,”
apologies littering every other sentence,
words trailing off a cliff you haven’t jumped
from in 7 years.
i could listen to you forever, though i know
speaking for more than 3 uninterrupted
minutes makes you anxious.
all i want you to know is that you deserve
to be heard
for 3 minutes
for 10 minutes
for 2 hours

there will be people who cannot handle your
grace, your beauty, your wisdom, your
mostly because they can’t handle their own.

but you will never be
and have never been
“too much.”

Tyler Ford  via.

Tweet Pin It Now!

Friday, March 21, 2014

World Poetry Day || Clementine von Radics, Lang Leav, Warsan Shire

Kissing Her on the Grass
Wojciech Weiss

 A few of my favorite poems from contemporary poets you should know about:

Home - Clementine von Radics
Tell me again about the wedding
we did not have. How I did not wear white,
did not choke on tradition, did not blush.
All the weddings that were not weddings,
the vows that were just sneezing.
The road ahead painted on a wall and how
we sped over and over again into the brick. I say “we”
like you weren’t just watching me bruise.  
Did you know I built us a home, laid the brick,
filled it with Jameson and apple-cheeked
children? I tried to slip the key onto your tongue
but you cannot kiss a smile. So my home is not
an honest home. So my home is an empty bed.
That’s the thing about heart break. It’s the
smallest of worlds ending. Everyone goes around you
smiling, like it’s nothing to close a door  

Love & Misadventures - Lang Leav
It happens like this. One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else—closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel—one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them—even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering—the reason for their presence will become clear in due time.  
Though here is a word of warning—you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn’t to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more. 

 Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth - Warsan Shire 
the year of letting go, of understanding loss. grace. of the word ‘no’ and also being able to say ‘you are not kind’. the year of humanity/humility. when the whole world couldn’t get out of bed. everyone i’ve met this year, says the same thing ‘you are so easy to be around, how do you do that?’. the year i broke open and dug out all the rot with own hands. the year i learnt small talk. and how to smile at strangers. the year i understood that i am my best when i reach out and ask ‘do you want to be my friend?’. the year of sugar, everywhere. softness. sweetness. honey honey. the year of being alone, and learning how much i like it. the year of hugging people i don’t know, because i want to know them. the year i made peace and love, right here. 

and more from Warsan Shire, possibly my favorite poem, full-stop.

Who are your favorite poets? 

Tweet Pin It Now!

Saturday, March 15, 2014

"Be careful what you tell the heir to your throne."

Be careful what you tell your children (column) by Chloe Allyn
Be careful what you tell your daughter. Take care with the words you lend to her ear. 
Imagine your voice as the thunder on a summer evening, moments before she leaves to see her friends. Your diction is either lightning, striking down on her youth, or the familiar rumble of summer cloud cover. Your parting words will come as a rainstorm or a blanket of deep blue-gray warmth against the breeze of nighttime. 
Be careful what you tell your daughter. At the dinner table, she should open up to you, her stories should bubble up and out to glide softly into your heart. Listen, empathize, empower. Do not spell “why did you let him do that?” in her alphabet soup when it’s not her motives that must be questioned. 
Be sure your hands conjure a force, a tornado raised from the ashes of sacrificed women before her. Instill within her the majesty of a queen, who loves her kingdom, will sacrifice for her kingdom and will lay down her pride for her kingdom. 
To teach your daughter how to walk down the street and turn every head in awe is the goal. You must build her up, not break her down with the stigmas that she is but an instrument of beauty. 
Your daughter is not just beautiful. She is bold, she is human, she is graceful, she is intelligent and she is the unforgettable whirlwind of charm that leaves behind strands of hair like tokens for all who will praise her. 
Do not teach your daughter that she’s capable of anything less than the distance to the moon. Your daughter is not a mother; do not treat her as one. Tell her every day that until she dies that she still has time. Tell her that until her parting breath. She has the same amount of potential in her pen, in her ballet slipper, in her tennis shoe or in her theories as the universe has energy. 
Never limit your daughter to merely a role in the kitchen, a role as a victim or a role as a supporting part. Your daughter is the hero, your daughter is the antagonist, and your daughter is the author. 
Be careful what you tell your son. Do not replace his tears with daggers. Do not teach him the flaws of the past. His gender and skin color do not define his power. 
Remind your son that he’s made of atoms that once composed the silken petals of roses. That the definition in his biceps is for raising people up, not striking them down. Be cautious that you are not the third Little Pig; do not build your son with stone. 
Never justify your son’s mistakes with “boys will be boys” because boys will be foolish, boys will be heart broken, boys will be warriors, boys will be nurses, but boys will never just be boys. 
Do not teach your son to be a puzzle piece, that he belongs somewhere. Teach your son to be a beacon. Teach your son to be a leader, to be an individual. 
Encourage him to watch scary movies. Encourage him to be afraid. Encourage him to be bold enough to check under his bed for monsters. Teach him that fear isn’t meant to be hidden, teach him that fear is meant to be faced, and at no time does shame marry the feeling of terror. 
Teach your son that he is every color of the sunset; he is the pink blush of gentility, he is the rich gold of success and he is the vivid orange of creativity. 
Be careful what you tell your son. Tell him that he has every right to be a man and a stay-at-home father, a choreographer or a fashion designer. Your son was not born to be just A Man. 
He was born to be himself. 
Be careful what you tell the heir to your throne. Be kind and thoughtful in the messages you convey to the flowers you grow. Do not define the limits they will reach. Do not confine the limits they will reach. Do not intervene with heights they will reach. 
Be careful what you tell your daughter, be careful what you tell your son, and be careful that you don’t limit their access or love of this kingdom under the sun.

There are no words, except one: Yes.
Tweet Pin It Now!

Thursday, November 28, 2013


Thanksgiving 2013.

And thanks will never be strong enough a word to convey what I feel. All I know is that I believe in my story, and I believe in yours. The fact it's a story in motion, a story of healing and change, a story for which I am forever thankful.


If you're reading this, if there's air in your lungs on this November day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, we all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories aren't finished yet. There is still time, for things to heal, change, and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are stories still going, you and I. We are stories still going.Jamie Tworkowski 
Tweet Pin It Now!

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Three questions.

three questions | by Caitlyn Siehl

My mother tells me
that when I meet someone I like,
I have to ask them three questions:

1. what are you afraid of?
2. do you like dogs?
3. what do you do when it rains?

of those three, she says the first one is the most important.
“They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”

I met you on a Sunday, right
after church.
one look and my heart fell into
my stomach like a trap door.

on our second date,
I asked you what you were afraid of.
“spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.”
I asked you if you liked dogs.
“I have three.”
I asked you what you do when it rains.
“sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”

he smiled like he knew.
like his mom told him the same
“how about you?”

I’m scared of everything.
of the hole in the o-zone layer,
of the lady next door who never
smiles at her dog,
and especially of all the secrets
the government must be breaking
it’s back trying to keep from us.
I love dogs so much, you have no idea.
I sleep when it rains.
I want to tell everyone I love them.
I want to find every stray animal and bring them home.
I want to wake up in your hair
and make you shitty coffee
and kiss your neck
and draw silly stick figures of us.
I never want to ask anyone else
these questions
ever again.
Tweet Pin It Now!

Monday, September 2, 2013

Stay gone.

writers vineyard:
Go. Stay gone. There’s nothing for you here, but the sack of bones in your closet that you’re starting to feel like you miss. Go before it recollects itself and sits placidly as dead weight on your shoulders.  
This is not like that one time he got home too late and you made him sleep on the pull-out couch, only to crawl in next to him because teaching him a lesson wasn’t worth sleeping alone. This is not like the one time your best friend blew you off, only to call you up drunk for a ride home hours later, and despite it all, you go to pick her up, because you reasoned anger was better than grief. You’d prefer not to see her on the news, dead the next morning from drunk driving. 
This is for all the times he’s been home late, and you were too tired to stay up for him. This is for the moment you realized sleeping alone made no difference. This is for all the times she waited until she needed something to call you. For all the times she didn’t call. 
It’s been a cycle. You’ve been driving around the rotary, too afraid you’ll take the wrong exit, but while you’re second guessing yourself, your tank is down to its last drop of gas, and soon you’ll be stranded, waiting for a tow truck to get you where you could’ve gotten yourself if you hadn’t been so chicken. 
Just go with the flow [of traffic], and it will all work out, if only you’d let it. Don’t hold yourself up. 
You left, so finish it up and stay gone.


Ain't that the truth? Mhmm...
(...and exactly what I need to do.)
Tweet Pin It Now!

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

The truth about square one.

I came across this beautiful piece earlier this week and it affected me from my head to my toes to the depths of my soul.

"One thing you need to learn about life."  From the blog "Let Love In." 
You have to get used to square one. When you are recovering from anything, square one sounds like the worst possible option. When you are learning something new, square one sounds so tedious  and you just want to jump to square 53 already, but life doesn’t work that way and love doesn’t work that way and learning doesn’t work that way. And I know most of us wished it did, but because it doesn’t, we have to get used to square one. 
Make a home out of square one. Decorate it with recovery, and paint it with patience. When you realize you have to take a few steps back, to understand someone or something, just go back to this home you’ve made in square one. 
Become so familiar with the different rooms, that when you go, you know exactly which one you need to sit in - understanding, trust, love, hope, and knowledge. But there is one extra room, every house on square one has it - the fear room. Paint it the brightest yellow you know, and vacuum the dust bunnies, and scrape off the popcorn ceiling. Open up the windows, and let the air flow in. Don’t close and lock the door. Drown fear in the bathtub, instead of being afraid of it.  
Become so familiar with square one, that when you have to go back - whether you were in square two or eighty-three - that when you open up the front door, you find yourself kissing the ground and dancing with joy. Let square one be a safe place for you, and not just an awkward, shameful walk home.  
When all you know has been burned to the ground and your home on square 71 is in ashes, don’t be afraid to sprint to square one and crash into the couch that holds so many dried up tears.  
Let square one be a home - beginnings don’t have to be hard - and the start of something doesn’t have to be scary - square one has a welcome mat and the key has always been in your pocket. 
When you hit the negatives - that home you built, is still right there.  
Let yourself sit there for however long you need until things are okay again. 
Then say “see you soon, old friend” 
Become comfortable with square one.

Amazing, right?

P.S. Why 30 is not the new 20.

Tweet Pin It Now!

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Learning how to come home.

[Overflowing with happiness reuniting with my nieces and the rest of my sweet family.]

how to come home//thought catalog.
To come home from another home is a weird feeling, because people expect you to be the person you were when you left, and that’s impossible. You expect things to be exactly the same as when you left, and that’s impossible. Maybe it’s impossible to even truly come home once you’ve gone away because of those changes. Coming home is strange, because now that place is just a tiny bit less of a home.


I plan on writing more soon, dear readers. At the moment, I am on a wee hiatus. I'm just trying to find my groove. xo
Tweet Pin It Now!

Friday, May 3, 2013

Learning to be a 'warrior for love.'

This book, tiny beautiful things Advice on love and life from Dear Sugar, changed the way I think about life, love and everything in between. (I read it twice in the course of two weeks. It's that good.) I recommend it to everyone and anyone, and truly wish I could hand copies out to everyone I know.

Here are some excerpts I especially loved:
“Don't surrender all your joy for an idea you used to have about yourself that isn't true anymore.”  
“You don't have to get a job that makes others feel comfortable about what they perceive as your success. You don't have to explain what your plan to do with your life. You don't have to justify your education by demonstrating its financial rewards. You don't have to maintain an impeccable credit score. Anyone who expects you to do any of those things has no sense of history of economics or science or the arts.” 
“Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.” 
“You have to say I am forgiven again and again until it becomes the story you believe about yourself.”  
“Nobody will protect you from your suffering. You can't cry it away or eat it away or starve it away or walk it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. It's just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal.” 
“You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don’t waste your time on anything else.”  
“What’s important is that you make the leap. Jump high and hard with intention and heart. Pay no mind to the vision that the commission made up. It’s up to you to make your life. Take what you have and stack it up like a tower of teetering blocks. Build your dream around that.”   
“I can't say when you'll get love or how you'll find it or even promise you that you will. I can only say you are worthy of it and that it's never too much to ask for it and that it's not crazy to fear you'll never have it again, even though your fears are probably wrong. Love is our essential nutrient. Without it, life has little meaning. It's the best thing we have to give and the most valuable thing we receive. It's worthy of all the hullabaloo.”  
“You will learn a lot about yourself if you stretch in the direction of goodness, of bigness, of kindness, of forgiveness, of emotional bravery. Be a warrior for love.” 
 Read more quotes from the book here.

Tweet Pin It Now!

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Reassuring my heart and mind with words.

I just finished reading Angry Conversations with God: A Snarky but Authentic Spiritual Memoir and really recommend it. While it wasn't exactly what I was expecting, it was quite refreshing and didn't sugar coat dealing with life and Faith. 

I'd love to share some of my favorite passages:
"Where there is real love, there's real pain. I'd be more worried if you didn't have any grievances." 
"He appreciated you. But he couldn't feed your soul for the rest of your life. Can't you just appreciate that he was great for you for that period of time?" 
“Just say it: I'm angry and no one will like me. God: No, I will not say that. But don't you think we ached for you to find a love you could share your whole life with? I used your teachers to encourage you creatively when the church could not... I worked with whatever I got my hands on. Can you see that?”  
“I remembered something Father Michael said to me a the monastery. 'The human soul is meant to expand. Things that once captured your heart may no longer be able to contain it.”  
“It often felt like God had merely let me into a foyer where I could hear others playing my note in another room, with no way to get to the music. And that's really what I wanted to do. I wanted to play my note. I wanted to do the thing that made me feel alive.”  
“There's a very simple reason why quality relationships are scarce: we live in a fallen world, and it sucks.” 
“I thought I was over him! So why did my heart still rip? Why did I still feel this sorrow? I got this strange sensation that God was with me. And he was angry. He was very angry--not at me and not at Jack. God was angry at the pain I was going through. I wondered if that was why God hated sin, because of the destruction it caused. For a moment I felt awe for a God who loved me enough to hate the things that hurt me without hating me for causing them.” 

Now I'm reading Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar and already am enamored with every word. Have you read it? Have you read the columns on The Rumpus? 

Also: I love this Dear Sugar print. I'm going to buy it as soon as I get home and frame it for next to my front door. I'm nerdy like that. 

Now I'm looking for some more inspiring reads, what's your favorite?

Big Love.
Tweet Pin It Now!

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Five minutes when you're 23 years old.

[Munich. December 2012.]

“Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.”
Written by: Kalyn RoseAnne 
Tweet Pin It Now!

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Taking it all in.

Some excerpts from one of my go-to books when I feel weary and hopeless; Bittersweet: Thoughts on Change, Grace, and Learning the Hard Way by Shauna Niequist.

“There are times when the actual experience of leaving something makes you wish desperately that you could stay, and then there are times when the leaving reminds you a hundred times over why exactly you had to leave in the first place.” 

“We sometimes choose the most locked up, dark versions of the story, but what a good friend does is turn on the lights, open the window, and remind us that there are a whole lot of ways to tell the same story.” 

“I believe that suffering is part of the narrative, and that nothing really good gets built when everything's easy. I believe that loss and emptiness and confusion often give way to new fullness and wisdom.” 

“...sometimes the happiest ending isn't the one you keep longing for, but something you absolutely cannot see from where you are.” 


I have it on cd and have it looping in my car. 
It's like medicine for the heart.
Tweet Pin It Now!

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Borrowed definitions.

“We’re not, like, seeing other people, right?” I asked. We were barely over the one-month mark, I believe.
          You nodded.
          “Excellent,” I said.
          “But I have to tell you something,” you added - and my heart sank.
          “At first, I was seeing someone else. Only for the first week or two. Then I told him it wasn’t going to work.”
          “Because of me?”
          “Partly. And partly because it wouldn’t have worked anyway.”
          I was glad I hadn’t known I was in contest; I don’t know if I could have handled that. But still, it was strange, to realize my version of those weeks was so far from yours.
          What a strange phase - not seeing other people. As if it’s been constructed to be a lie. We see other people all the time. The question is what we do about it.

-The Lover's Dictionary
via tumblr

Oh the leaps and bounds we encounter utterly clueless. Utterly hopeful.
Tweet Pin It Now!

Thursday, December 13, 2012

The heavy questions.

Denise Daisy, Haytham
Tweet Pin It Now!
Older Posts Home


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...