Evolve or remain.

I was 16 years old, it was summer, and one of my friends and I were sitting across from one another at a table in a frozen yogurt shop. It was beautiful out. And most of you, if you're reading this, are probably thinking that this is going to be a happy story- so I'm sorry to have to tell you that you're wrong. This isn't a cute story about a girl and her friend enjoying frozen yogurt in the sweltering heat of a Kansas summer. This isn't a story about being 16 and being blissfully careless. And to be quite honest, it isn't even anywhere close.  After getting our dessert and finally finding a small table for ourselves, we sat down and I started to tell her about the things in my life that had happened since the last time we'd talked. Not big things by any means, or anything that was particularly significant, but I figured she'd still want to hear about them. Remember how you were wrong earlier in this post? This is where I catch up to you, because...

i hope you know that i want nothing but good things for you. i hope you love yourself and i hope people build you up. i hope you're able to feel at peace. i hope your bad days don't last very long. i hope your time is spent laughing. i hope that you never have to feel like the ground is crumbling right beneath your feet. i hope that whoever you make a scratchy-throated and teary-eyed phone call to at 3 a.m. on a wednesday when your heart aches picks up before you change your mind. i hope you always are able to get a good parking spot. i hope nobody ever makes you feel guilty for not shutting up about things that make your eyes shine when you talk about them. i hope you never question your worth. i hope there are backroads you can drive without having to think about where you're going so you can jam to your favorite songs and still know when to turn. i hope that someone stands at the stove making ramen for you when you're drunk on their couch. i hope you can remember t...

I've been in an unusual sort of "writing slump" for the past few weeks/months, and if you know me at all you know how frustrating that is for me. Writing offers me an alternate universe to turn to when the real one gets to be too much- and when I lose the ability to express my thoughts and feelings in words, my entire essence becomes very frustrated, very disappointed, very uncertain and even very angry. My behavior changes entirely when I get to a place where I feel stuck in my writing, and to most people I'm in contact with that's a very confusing thing. It's been a cause of tension in both platonic and romantic relationships throughout my most recent years, and it's for that reason that I feel like I should at least try to explain it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ For most of my life, writing has been the only thing I've ever really been even semi good at. I've dipped my toes in a lot of differen...

"What'd you get for your birthday?" That's the question everybody asks.  That's the question I've gotten a lot of this past week, given that I turned 20 last Wednesday- starting decade dos of being wild-hearted, free-spirited, curious, and obsessed with the human experience.  What'd I get for my birthday?  Lucky.  Lucky to be alive. Lucky to be loved and able to love the people around me. Lucky to be able to look back on 19 years while starting the twentieth with the happiest heart.  I remember being overly enthusiastic about my own birthdays as a little girl. Starting in Octobers, I used to spend hours designing party invitations and obsessing over who to invite. Now my birthdays sneak up on me, and I'd be lying if I said people didn't have to remind me about this one.  I think the world puts its watch on fast forward once you start college and become a real adult. I'm still adjusting to that.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...

I've been working on my coming book, "Mother Nature I Am Hungry-- NOTES TO THE UNIVERSE" for going on three years now. And because I know you're getting ready to ask me what the book is about, it's very difficult to explain it to you in a way that makes it sound like anything you'd ever walk towards and pick up off of a bookshelf. It's very hard to summarize the things I've written about in as few words as possible for fear of losing your attention. It's hard to tell you that it's a book of poetry and short stories about my life experiences because you have no reason to want to read that- and I can't blame you. So instead of getting frustrated with you for not wanting to read the things I write, and instead of talking myself down as I come to the realization that I might be the only person who will ever have an appreciation for the book once it exists, I'm going to educate you about how it came to be an idea at all. ~~~~~~~~~~~~...

"You used to be so nice," is something I've heard aimed at me in an accusatory tone more than I care to admit in the recent months, as I've increased the number of instances in which I speak my mind and share my opinions. They say it, more often than not, in a way that sounds like my accusers have developed a mixed emotion of anger, hated and disappointment towards the person I've become. What's funny is that who I am hasn't changed. At all. It's not that I'm meaner now than I used to be. It's that I've gained self-respect. It's not that I've become indifferent or that my heart has gone cold. It's that I've stopped tolerating bullshit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I used to let people walk all over me. I used to tolerate emotional abuse and shrug off things that hurt like hell. I used to let people get away with saying horribly destructive things to me and about me. I used...

I've shared a lot of my #selflovejourney anywhere and everywhere since I started it, but seeing as it is such a big part of how I've gotten to be who I am today I feel like I ought to sit down and tell you why I've added a second part. A title. I feel like you should know why I call myself a "human experience enthusiast" now. More than a handful of people have heard me use the term as I've attempted to describe myself time and time again. And almost every time without fail, as soon as I've spoken the last syllable, the inevitable question gets asked. "What does that even mean?" And they aren't wrong to ask. If someone used those words to describe themselves to me, I wouldn't know how to even begin to respond. That's why I chose the words I did. They initiate conversation. They spark questions. They provide a platform from which I can begin to preach the ways I think and the ways I feel. They allow people to get me, in a wa...