The Perks Of Being A Morning Person

I was a pretty normal teenager in that I often stayed up late on the internet. I didn’t “go out” a lot, because that was never my thing, but there was a distinct range of years right around when I started college, where I defied my circadian rhythm. Often playing Halo. Or Burnout.

Back then I could bounce back from only five or six hours of sleep much better than I can now, even though I’ve never been a coffee drinker.

Just a few years later, I was working a job where I had to leave for the bus at about 7:20 a.m. Since my job was hectic and I was usually starving well before lunch, I tried to always eat some kind of breakfast before work. But I was never hungry right after waking up, it usually took two to three hours for me to get hungry.

So, I would get up at 4:30 a.m., and half the time I’d be able to eat something before I left. Of course, when you have three hours to kill before leaving for work, you need something to do with that time.
I started finding ways to make use of that early morning jump start. I would produce music. I would write lyrics or read up on stuff. I would do graphic design or edit photos.
I do something similar now — I go to the gym (usually three times a week), but because it’s a complete zoo after typical business hours, I go before work when it’s practically empty. The best you can do after 5 p.m. is lay claim to one machine and pretty much only use that machine the whole time you’re there. The gym opens at 5:30 a.m. The (weekday) mornings I go, I get up at 4:50 a.m. On the weekend it opens at 7 so I “sleep in” until 6 or 6:30. On the mornings I don’t go to the gym, I usually try to do some writing, or catch up on email or other things.

Luckily for me, I’m not a huge social butterfly.

The one thing I have always loved about the early morning is the feeling that you are the only one, that you can slow down or even stop completely — just stand still — and take your time to look around, to breathe, to take everything in. Vehicle traffic is light or non-existent. There is almost no one out “in public” before sunrise other than joggers or sometimes dog walkers, and they usually just give you a nod of approval as if to say “nice morning, huh?”

It’s quiet, it’s still, it’s calm. There are no pressing deadlines, and best of all, you’re fresh, you’re at the peak of your energy for the day (at least I am). If you’ve already eaten breakfast, all the better.
It’s also pretty nice to watch the sun rise, when it’s not interfering with your attempts to actually be sleeping. It’s like greeting it at the horizon and saying “hello old friend, how are you today?”
There tends to not be any leftover party people stumbling home, no traffic screeching or honking, perhaps just the friendly clang of a streetcar going by.
And since most people sleep later than I do, with this lack of noise and distraction, I can concentrate — can focus — on getting things done (or at least getting started). In the afternoon the world is just too busy, too loud, too crowded. People are impatient to get home, a lot of people forget their manners. But at dawn, it’s calm, still, wide open for me to enjoy, and people are usually still half asleep. It’s hard to be rude when you’re half asleep.
Mornings are not as fun in the winter, but in the summer they can be gorgeous. It’s warm, possibly just the slightest bit humid out, but the heat is not yet stifling or oppressive. You can enjoy some sun and light before it feels like it’s trying to kill you. Fall is a bit disappointing because each day that pleasantness slips away, bit by bit, testing the limits and duration of your short-sleeved comfort. Spring is the reverse, each day is a case for optimism that maybe yesterday was the last cruelly chilly day you’ll have to face of the winter passed.
And of course, if you are fortunate to be in a happy co-habitation with a romantic partner at that time, mornings are wonderful because you get to watch your love in their most peaceful, relaxed state. You can quietly sneak out to do something nice for them (like make breakfast, or clean up), and then enjoy them waking up to the day in a nice way.
Being a morning person means getting to experience each day first, and arguably best. As long as I’m not tired, it is something I almost always look forward to.
So, good morning to you all — even if it’s night time when you read this. It’s morning somewhere!

What A History Of Self-Harm Is Like

I was 12 years old the first time I self harmed. It stung when the hot water from the shower touched it for the first time. But from that point on, I couldn’t stop. With every cut my admiration grew fonder and the razor became my best friend, but I needed more. So I began burning myself with lighters, erasers, anything that I could get my hands on that would leave a burning sensation on my skin. After a while, just the thought of not self harming left a bitter taste in my mouth. So I continued catering to my need of burning and tearing open my skin for 3 miserable years, and that was just the beginning of my fight to stay alive.

The best time for me to self harm was in the shower. So I made sure to shower every night and sometimes in the mornings before I started my day. I wouldn’t be 5 minutes into the shower before I grabbed the razor, bared down, and began making dozens of deep lines across my hip. After I was done, I would look at my artwork and begin to smile. I felt invincible , like no one and nothing could hurt me, nothing could take away my shine. But the feeling of being indestructible was soon overwhelmed by the distinct feeling of being numb. Numbed to the stinging sensation when the water hit my hip that I once loved, numbed to the fact that I was tearing open my once perfect skin and enjoying it, numbed to the fact that I was slowly killing myself, and I didn’t mind.

Soon after I discovered the feeling of being numb, it was like a black cloud hovered over me and sucked the love out of my heart. I was bitter, angry, mean, all of the things I swore to myself that I would never become. I began hating myself. I would look in the mirror and pull at my skin so hard it would leave bruises. I felt hideous, in fact, I felt as if I resembled a man. My facial features, at least to my eyes, were masculine. It got to the point to where I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t take pictures, I couldn’t go get the mail, without having make up on. Without my makeup, I felt like when people saw me, they thought, wow, she would be cute if her eyes weren’t so small, if her nose wasn’t so big, if her cheek bones were more defined. Along with this overwhelming feeling of self hate, came my best friend, depression.

Depression is an old friend. I met my dear friend, depression, in 4th grade, the first year I was bullied. I would cry in the mornings and beg my mom to let me stay home. I would tell her I was sick, that I threw up, or my throat was hurting. She, being the loving and caring mom she is, of course let me stay home. She had no idea how bad it was at school. I didn’t want her to know, just because I was terrified of it getting worse. Soon after I began crying and faking illnesses, I got to the point where I worried myself sick, literally. I got mono, also known as the “kissing disease”, in February of my 4th grade year. I honestly don’t know where I picked up the bug because I had never kissed anyone, so I assumed I caught it from the water fountain. I was out of school for over 40 days after I was diagnosed. I missed so much school, I had to go on home bound, which is when a teacher comes to your house once or twice a week, and gives you your work that you have missed. I didn’t get on home bound until around the last three weeks before I returned to finish my 4th grade year.

Ever since I met depression in 4th grade, she has stuck around. She left my life my 5th grade year, only to return 10 times as strong when I began my first year in middle school. My 6th grade year was hell, to be honest. The self harming was still very much an issue and my “friends” had left me behind for new people. My heart was broken, and so was my spirit. Girls at school began calling me a whore, a slut, ugly, fat, you name it. I was called it all. Girls tried to fight me, they tried to trip me in the halls, they turned people against me, and they made my only friend choose between me and somebody else. I had a lot to deal with. I don’t believe anyone, no matter if you’re 12, 13, 17, 30, or even 80 years old, should be put through so much. No one deserves that.

My crippling battle with suicidal thoughts, severe depression, self harm, anxiety, and BDD (Body Dismorphic Disorder), lead to my final breakdown and landed me a 6 day stay in a mental health facility. My family, friends, church family, and best friend, were shocked. They had no idea that I fantasized about dying, they had no idea that I imagined my mom walking in my room to find my lifeless body hanging there. These thoughts, feelings, cravings for death to be the answer drove me to insanity. But it also taught me a lesson about loving, fighting, breathing, and existing. It taught me that it’s okay to take medicine for you mental illnesses. It taught me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with seeking help. It taught me that I am strong, I can not be broken. I stared at suicide as it held it’s pretty hand out for me, but I resisted. I won.

Society now a days, throws a rock at you and yells catch, but before you can gather your thoughts, they throw 2 more rocks and expect you to be able to keep your head up, when the weight of all of those rocks is bearing down on your chest. This comparison to my experience with depression relates perfectly. I couldn’t keep my head up. I cracked under the pressure and thought that suicide was the only way out. But I’m not mad at myself for it. I grew as a person during this experience, and sure, recovering from wanting to die isn’t easy. There are days where I want nothing more than to pick up the razor and make art. But I can’t. I can’t do that to my family again. I can’t do that to myself again. I’m a fighter, and in the end, I will defeat depression. I will win.

Discovering Yourself Through Your Experiences

If you want to be happy, you need to be present in the moment, you need to open up your mind and eyes to see the universe from all different sides and angles. You need to be part of your own existence rather than live passively. There’s one bulletproof way to do so, and it’s to engage with your own life and push yourself into areas that are outside of your comfort zone. Even the smallest measures you take will count.

Have you ever heard of the term “momentphoria”? Well, you have now. Possibly because it has just been created. It’s not easy to explain certain situations that make you feel human but these moments are important because they somehow make you understand yourself better, in a magical yet realistic way. Momentphorias are certain experiences that occur when you feel inexplicably euphoric, as if an eruption of emotions that you did not know existed in you flows through your soul. They usually happen when you let go of familiar habits and experience something completely new to you.

It was that one summer afternoon, when my friend dragged me to my first yoga practice in the great outdoor with at least fifty other sweaty strangers, that I finally viewed life from an entirely different angle. Literally. The instructor guided us into our next position: the most uncomfortable one, downward facing dog. It was then when my whole perspective changed. I opened my eyes and what I saw left me feeling heavy with gratefulness. I saw mother earth upside down. And I don’t know if it was the zen-high functioning at the time, but I felt as though the weight of the entire planet was held in the palm of my hands. Yet, I also felt as light as a feather. As though I was falling against the sky, defying all laws of physics, gravity, and Newton’s apple. Newton was wrong at that specific moment. I felt small and not in a bad way, but in a way that is somehow liberating. If earth was this big and I was this small, then how tiny were my worries in comparison. I was in utter awe, hesitantly trying to keep my eyes open like a newborn child that is scared of the unfamiliar change of surrounding. But then I finally embraced the view of the sky and its endlessness, its infiniteness. In that moment, I fully acknowledged my existence in this humongous space that I often don’t give enough attention to. All it took was to see my world from the same lens but from an unfamiliar angle to make all the difference in my perspective. It took the patience to balance myself in discomfort on all fours, to really see the bigger picture that holds my existence together.
If you want to discover who you are, you need to discover what makes you shiver with passion. And in order to do that, you need to keep trying new things and experimenting new techniques to live by. It will make you happy, almost ecstatic to see what you will see, learn what you will learn, and feel what you will feel. The new things you choose to try may not be as comfortable as the new show you chose to watch on your couch, but at least they’ll have a solid impact on you. Often, just like anything worthwhile, the impact is not instant. But when you’re well down the road, you’ll look back and notice how much your choices changed you. Good things rarely happen when you religiously follow your routine. For example, a new and exciting job is somewhere outside your day-to-day life. It’s out there waiting for you to come in its direction. A new and exciting friend is also doing different adventures that are outside of your box of comfort, which is what makes them attractive in the first place. It only takes getting yourself out there to understand your purpose. Maybe you’ll change your perspective or maybe you’ll change your entire life. It doesn’t have to be an epic change of lifestyle; just doing one new thing every day can magically turn your dull life into an extraordinary one. And it will make you feel more alive than ever.

21 Things You Should Know By Age 21

1.

“Growing up” doesn’t suck. It’s a time of learning and adjusting, but would you really like to be back in that jail cell of a high school again? Yeah, didn’t think so.

2.

You were only friends with the majority of your high-school friends because you were forced to be with them seven hours a day, five days a week. There’s gonna be some separation, and the true friends will stick around.

3.

Absolutely nobody owes you any-fucking-thing. Not your mom or your dad, your grandparents, your teachers—nobody. Get off your ass and work for what you want.

4.

You, however, do owe yourself something more than Burnett’s or Smirnoff. Stop buying the cheapest alcohol on the shelf and treat yourself to something nice every once in a while.

5.

Getting new tires for your car is gonna be expensive, but don’t buy the cheap ones because you’re only cutting yourself short in the end.

6.

Take advice when you can get it. There are plenty of adults who are more than happy to give you their two cents on any given life topic. Take advantage of their wisdom and stop being so damn stubborn.

7.

Acting bitter toward the lovey-dovey couples you always see around is the reason why you’re single. No need to be judgmental of others’ relationships…focus on you and your nonexistent relationship. LOL

8.

Your nonexistent relationship is completely all right. Take time to truly get to know yourself before you begin to incorporate a whole new person into the picture.

9.

Facebook/Twitter/Instagram, etc. are awesome ways to keep up with friends, but you must realize that social media is where people share the best part of their lives. You don’t see their burnt dinners, their ugly breakups, their failed exams or posts about how much weight they have gained. Stop using it as a medium to compare lives.

10.

As much as paying rent sucks, at least you have the opportunity to do it. But, umm, pitching up a tent in the corner of the park next to the hobos is oh-so-tempting.

11.

Relying on a significant other to bring happiness into your life leads to countless tubs of ice cream, lonesome pizza binging, and a couple of tears. But mainly the first two.

12.

Family first. And family doesn’t automatically mean blood related. “Blood is thicker than water,” but ketchup is thicker than blood, so what does that mean? French fries first, duh.

13.

You may have it hard, but somebody has it harder, and they aren’t making up excuses as to why they can’t do something. They are making shit happen. Go make shit happen.

14.

It is not necessary to document everything you do on social media. You don’t need to put your whole life on display. Unplug yourself and have a little bit of fun.

15.

Saving money is probably a good idea and all. However, the tighter you hold onto your money, the more stress it’s going to bring you. Money comes and goes; it’s OK to splurge on random shit.

16.

Stay away from credit cards. Those pieces of plastic can fuck up your life real quick. Leave them for emergencies; otherwise it’s just not worth it.

17.

Baristas at Starbucks think it’s a funny game to intentionally spell people’s names wrong. I didn’t think it was possible to butcher a name as simple as Kate, but I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes.

18.

Sparkling water, Advil, ramen, and a good nap work magic on hangovers. Don’t knock it ’til you try it.

19.

Sometimes silence is the best answer.

20.

Chipotle is always the best solution.

21.

If you want to go ball up in your bed and have a good ugly cry, you are more than entitled to do so. Sometimes you’ve just gotta let it all out. But when you’re done crying, jump back on that horse and wreak havoc.

My Need To Be In Control Makes My Life Uncontrollable

I am a messy person. I talk without thinking all the way through the words in my head. I make impulsive decisions that, in hindsight, are very poor decisions. A seemingly endless amount of homework, books, notes, and papers completely crowd my desk. My bookshelf is stuffed beyond its capacity. My sheets are hardly every folded in place and my clean laundry is only returned from the hamper to my closet when I need to use the hamper to wash more clothes. The biggest tell of my messiness is my handwriting. If you were to compare my notes to the notes of a 3rd grader, I guarantee that you would find the 3rd grader’s notes more legible.

And yet, there is one thing about me that is organized, orderly and precise: my life. Or rather, I work the hardest at making my life as controlled as possible. I love making plans. I try to schedule everything. Even my studying is scheduled (30 minutes of studying with 10 minutes of break. These timed sessions are kept completely exact). I’m the freshman who voluntarily goes to the advising office to plan out my four years of college.

If there is any uncertainty or problem in my master schedule, I try to fix it the moment I notice it is an issue. But until the issue is fixed, the uncertainty eats at me. The anxiety of the uncertainty will continue to torture me until the uncertainty is made certain.
This happens to me in the seemingly most meaningless and stress-free situations. Like when I had to order my contact lenses during winter break before I returned to school. I freaked out over everything that could go wrong when I would call the office to order the lenses. What if I say something wrong? What if they won’t let me order them? What if the contacts don’t come in time? What if I can’t get them? What if I have to wear glasses for the next semester?
Just thinking about this experience makes me feel unpleasant. And of course, like everything I stress about, it all worked out just fine.
It’s even worse when the plans must be changed. There have been many instances where I have cried over an unforeseen need for me to change the plans I had previously carefully laid out in my head.
I know how ridiculous this all sounds. I really wish I weren’t this way. I wish that I could have the maturity to know that everything will work out just fine. I wish that such a simple task of reorganizing a plan would not stress me out to tears.
And yet, I continue this life of anxiety. It’s my addiction for control. How ironic that my quest for the control of my life causes my sanity to spiral out of control.

How To Date Women When You’re An Invisible Femme

I like things with lace and sequins and bows and pearls. I am unapologetically guilty of wearing leggings as pants. Many days of the week I make use of a dreaded device commonly known as an eyelash curler.

I look like your average 20-something cisgendered woman…and I like to date women.

People rarely, if ever, assume I’m queer when they look at me. Even for other queer people, my queerness isn’t usually perceptible. It’s hard to detect through the projected aura of my French manicure.

I know I’m not the only queer woman in a frilly dress and five inch heels with pink lipgloss. There are plenty like me. And not of all of them have trouble finding a girl to date. But I’m sharing my story for the queer girls out there who do feel invisible. This is for the girls who want to date girls, but wonder “With boring hair like this, how will I ever get her to notice me?”
In the modern day queer world there isn’t a code. Last year, I read an article about finger flagging, the idea that lesbians paint their ring finger nail a different color to signify their preference for women. That is great in theory, if you are able to examine people’s hands without looking like a weirdo, but even if you accomplish that, the sparkly ring finger is now a popular style for every twelve year old and their moms. There is a lot of advice out there for combating femme invisibility with a triangle ring, or one feather earring, but what if that just isn’t your style? Without any reliable way to visually communicate that you like ladies, what is a femme, particularly a new femme, to do?

Throughout my life I’ve found people across the gender spectrum to be attractive, but my early dating life involved a lot of boys. I had it all figured out. I knew how to snag them and keep them wrapped around my finger.

And then a gorgeous chapstick lesbian with her short hair and her tie walked into the room. There she was! The one I’d been waiting for – the woman I found both mentally and physically exciting. I was totally ready to date my first girl.

Except I wasn’t. Take all of the butterflies and nausea of a normal crush and add on the “It’s so awkwardly obvious that I have no idea what the heck I’m doing!” factor. And because every time I ran into her I just so happened to be wearing a new dress from Forever 21, she wasn’t making any moves.
I tried my usual strategies, but for some reason my lingering hugs didn’t seem to make her weak at the knees and she didn’t even notice when I accidentally/on purpose brushed my ankle against hers. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. My milkshake had systematically brought several men to the yard, but she wasn’t having it.
There were two main factors standing between me and a lifetime of love with this girl. One was the fact that intimacy between girls and their friends is seen as normal. In high school, my best friend and I would hold hands and skip down the hallway together and nobody gave it a second thought. So when I thought I was turning up the charm, this girl thought I was just being friendly. Later on she told me that she had literally shrugged and thought to herself “I guess this is how straight girls make friends.” Sigh.

Soon after meeting her, I entrapped her in a conversation about the qualities I liked in a partner. I painted a romantic picture of my ideal date, thinking she would see herself there and desperately want to make it happen. When she told me that she was looking for someone that she could stay in bed with all day, I told her I was good at that. She couldn’t possibly misconstrue what I was getting at, right? Wrong.

The other major factor working against invisible femmes is that because your outward appearance doesn’t clearly shout, “Hey, look at me! Queer lady over here!” you have to find another way to send that message.
My insinuations got through, but I had confused the heck out of her! She remembers trying to decipher my “mixed messages” with her roommate, insisting that I was straight but unable to ignore my strategy of aggressive flirtation. She started to think that I was just flirting with her because I liked the attention. I didn’t know how to convince her otherwise so, being the stubborn woman that I am, I just kept doing what I was doing. Eventually she caught on to the fact that I actually wanted to date her, but because I never clearly said so, she assumed that I wasn’t brave enough to take the leap, and she wasn’t going to do it for me.
This is not to say that other queer women are utterly clueless when it comes to femmes. And they aren’t baseless in being careful about dating someone who is seemingly straight. Let’s acknowledge that messiness and save it for someone else’s article, because even knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.
You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just say something. How hard would it have been to take the reins and tell her that I thought she was really great and that I wanted to take her out some time? Sure, that seems obvious now, but at the time that seemed terrifying.
It also seemed like the only viable option. So, after months of crushing on this girl, I finally asked her to go out with me, wouldn’t take no for an answer, took her to a gay bar, and kissed her on the middle of the dance floor. And that was that. No amount of volunteering to help with her projects, subtly touching her shoulder, or even telling her that I wanted to lie in bed with all day was going to open the door for me.
You see, fellow invisible femmes, the world has been conditioned to see our barrettes and patterned tights as a sign that we totally want boys in our pants. Sure, you could cut off all of your hair or put on a plaid shirt, but as my mama always said, “Stop bugging me and just tell me what you want already!”
In the end, a combination of awkward persistence and blunt honesty worked for me. So rock that mini skirt, flaunt your fake lashes. Just be prepared to actually tell a girl that you want to take her home.

How It Feels To Have Lost My First Love

Everyone tells you how much it will hurt when you go through your first breakup. You see it in movies, you hear about it from your parents, and you watch your friends go through it. But no amount of sappy movies or stories from other people can prepare you for what it feels like when it’s your turn to experience it first-hand.

My ex and I had first met a couple of times at parties and what not but I had never really noticed him until one night in particular. It was late in May and the weather was just starting to get warmer. A bunch of us had gathered in our friends’ backyard for some drinks. I remember looking at him and wondering where I had seen him before – something about him just caught my eye. I pulled up a chair and we started talking. We just clicked so well almost instantly. It was as if I had known him forever even though we had just met. I couldn’t tell you what we were talking about but I remember laughing and laughing and laughing literally all night. When everyone was leaving he me asked for my phone number, and we were literally inseparable since that day.

We fell in love so fast. We couldn’t get enough of each other. I wanted to do everything with him. There was nothing I could think of that would be more fun than going on an adventure with this incredible human being. We just had so much fun together. He was always there to help me when I needed him and I was always there to help him, too. Falling asleep in his arms was the greatest feeling there was. If I was sad or scared or having anxiety all I had to do was feel his arms around me and none of it mattered anymore. Months and months went by and these feelings just never changed for me. If I’m being completely honest, they still haven’t.
Of course we had our fair share of fights. If you don’t have arguments in your relationship then you don’t care enough about the person your with. There were definitely times where we got carried away and maybe said some things we didn’t mean, but at the end of the day one of us would apologize and we would spend the rest of the night making it up to each other. I never could have predicted that one day that wouldn’t be how it was.

One day in late January we got into the silliest little argument but for some reason it just wouldn’t blow over like these things usually did. He seemed to have shut down. He didn’t want to talk or work it out and I couldn’t help but feel confused. That night he drove to my house at 2am with tears streaming down his face. I came out of my house and sat there in the car next to him. After a long period of silence he stopped crying long enough to spit out the words “I just don’t think I love you like I used to.” At first, I felt everything go numb. Then, I went into a state of complete denial. I put his head on my shoulder and held him close, telling him that wasn’t how he felt, he must just be confused because of an argument we had gotten into earlier that day. He agreed with me and amazingly we stayed together after that.

I should have let him break up with me and drive away that night. I was wrong. He really didn’t love me like he used to anymore – but I couldn’t force myself to accept it. The next couple of months were really difficult. We started fighting almost every day because we wanted different things. He grew a sort of distain for me because I couldn’t let go of him, and he didn’t want to hurt me, so he stayed. He was unhappy. He wanted to be single so he could party with his single friends and hit on slutty single girls at parties, and I was the only thing that was standing in his way.
It’s crazy and unfair how love can be unrequited. How could he have just fallen out of love so fast? It didn’t make any sense to me and I guess that’s why until the very end I had tried to tell myself it couldn’t possibly be true. Picturing my life without him was a terrifying thought. When you have one person right there with you every day for a long period of time, being without them is scary. He was the one person I told everything to, and I couldn’t accept the fact that he just didn’t want to be that person for me anymore.

Eventually all of this blew up and he just decided it was time to let me go. He had gone on long enough pretending to be happy with me when he wanted something completely different and this time I didn’t beg him to stay. I mean, what’s the use of continuing to love someone with all of your heart if they can’t do the same for you?

Being without him was worse than I could have ever thought it would be. Nobody will be able to prepare you for the emptiness you feel when you lose your first love. I felt physically sick, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, and I was just a complete and total mess. I was crying everywhere I went – on the bus, at work, in school, in the shower, and especially when I was alone in my room. It isn’t like they make it seem in movies. You know how it goes. The girl who got dumped is sad and depressed, and then the guy wakes up one morning and realizes he made the worst mistake of his life. Next thing you know, John Cusack is standing outside of her room blasting “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel on a boom box, refusing to leave until she takes him back. That doesn’t happen in real life. In real life, the only boy I have ever truly loved left me because he just really wanted to be single and experience his 20s, and he doesn’t regret that decision at all.
At times like these it’s important to remind yourself that it isn’t your fault. There was nothing I could have done to change his mind. Sure I could’ve cried and begged for him to stay – and he probably would have – but it wouldn’t have changed the fact that this relationship was something he didn’t want to be part of anymore. One day he woke up and realized that the path he was on is nowhere near the path he wanted to be on, and who was I to hold him back from that? Besides, if he thinks he’ll be happier getting with random girls at parties than he would be with me then he’s kind of a douche anyway, right?
It’s been a week since the last time I spoke to him and I’m still not okay by any stretch of the word. There are pieces of him everywhere. His old soccer t-shirts and all the presents he’s ever given me are still scattered around my room. It’s ridiculously hard to let him go, (maybe because I didn’t think I’d ever have to). My favorite quote from John Green says “You can love someone so much, but you can never love people as much as you can miss them.” He will always have a special place in my heart, and I will never forget him or the love we shared. I don’t regret a minute of loving him because it was the best feeling I’ve ever had and it was nothing short of an adventure. They say time heals all wounds and I have never hoped more that this saying is true. To any girl who’s going through the same thing, you are definitely not alone. Heartbreak is a very real feeling and right now the only things that can help are some sappy movies, a really good breakup playlist, and surrounding myself with friends and people who remind me that everything is going to be okay.

The Hidden Life Of A Music Producer

I’m new here so I might as well introduce myself.

My name is Adam, I’m from a small town in the United Kingdom, I work as an Insurance Advisor as well as working as a DJ in local bars and venues. So to you I’m just another dude walking through his path of life. Now here I am writing to give you an insight into a life that no one sees, not you, not my friends, just Me, Myself and I

People approach me while I’m behind the decks and say things along the lines of “Wow! You’re a DJ, you must have such a great life and get so many girls and get laid all the time blah blah blah…” and yeah, don’t get me wrong I love what I do, there is nothing on this Earth that can relate to the feeling of seeing a room or arena full of pissed up people loving the music you’re playing and giving it their best dance moves, even if it looks like they’re having a seizure. Basically the way it goes is: If they’re having a good time, I’m having a good time.

And while I’m fulfilling my passion, there is not a lot ‘great’ about this line of work, or my life for that matter.

People assume that just because I’m a DJ means I’m the most popular person walking into a club, girls clinging to me like plastic wrap and every guy wanting to be me. This is far from true, in fact, this is probably one of the loneliest jobs you could work.

I’m on the road a lot, although I work weekly at the bar I have residency at I still ‘tour’ and work in other venues, I hardly get time to see my friends, I suffer from chronic depression, which in turn leads to fluctuating confidence levels, and while girls love DJ’s (this is a well-known fact) they love confidence more, and can smell an unconfident guy as if he had shat himself 5 miles away.

This contributes to the depression greatly, and I know there are many others (DJ or not) who know how this feels, so here I am writing to tell you how I cope.

I make music.

A lot of music.

When things play on my mind to the point where I’m feeling at the brink of suicidal, I sit in the bedroom studio for hours on end producing House music. Sitting there and doing something productive takes all the pain away from your mind and focuses it on the new track you’re making, and my mood at the time often has effect on the music I make.

And when the track’s finished, I sit there with a grin on my face, feeling accomplished as I click ‘Upload’ on SoundCloud.

And it works.

Every time I do this my mood sorts itself out, I no longer hate myself (for the moment), and my confidence soars to the point where I’m doing quite well in the sex life department.

Then a couple of weeks later I’m back to my usual self, feebly watching my crowd dance the night away, unable to maintain a conversation with a woman, and then back in the studio I go.

So I love my job, but at the same time, my job will be the death of me. So to those feeling the same, know that there is a place in society that only YOU alone can fill. Play the hand you were dealt.

Life Lessons From Growing Up On A Farm

Ralph is not your typical run of the mill granddad. This man is over six feet tall with hands the size of my face. He’s weathered from the long days spent on the farm and has a “this is how it is” kind of attitude. He wears overalls seven days a week and is usually sporting a trucker hat from either a feed store or some other bizarre place he’s been. He doesn’t blame anyone for anything and takes things at face value. He is just as strict and coarse as he is forgiving and gentle. Ralph is the kind of man who, when he towers over you and tells you to do something, you ask if there is anything else you can do. Don’t disagree with Ralph; that was the unspoken rule.
Now on a farm in Oklahoma you can pretty much do whatever you damn well please. I started riding horses as a child and found that the farm was a place of safe haven for me. I could go to granddads for the weekend pretend to be Wyatt Earp and ride across the plains searching for outlaws. I continued going to the farm to ride horses, dehorn and castrate bulls, brand cattle and play cowboy. As time progresses little boys grow to be teenagers and so on. Soon I was taught how to drive the old farm truck. Now this is just a small two door, standard transmission Toyota pick up that’s already beat to hell. But to me, this was a brand new cherry red Ferrari. I drove that thing like a mad man. I would tear across the fields, rip through any water I could find, and “herd the cattle”. Well it wasn’t too long before I found out that an old 90 something Toyota is no Ferrari.
I was screaming across the field one day and decided to try my hand at a few drifts. Now with Oklahoma being the way it is dry and dusty, drifting was very feasible. The first couple attempts weren’t too bad — I would gun it and then slam on the brakes and turn to the right. Yea I slid a little…but I think I need just a little more speed. Yea that will do it. OK. Here we go… Slam it in to first peddle to the metal. There we go 3000 rpm’s time for second gear. Done. Now were gaining some speed ok shift to third… Keep on pushing, fourth gear there it is.
Now I’m flying down the old gravel road way faster than any 14 year old who can barely see over the steering wheel should be. I crank the wheel to the right and pop it into neutral then slam on the brakes. Ohhhh yea were sliding baby! Wait a minute uh ohh, ohhh no this isn’t good. The world starts to go vertical on me. Next thing I know the truck has flipped onto the drivers side. I’m trapped inside the cab. My door is flush with the ground. The windshield is cracked from one side to the other. The passenger door is jammed and I can’t get out.
…
Now keep in mind this is a farm truck. So as I look around I notice that the old coffee can that was in the passenger seat is now no longer filled with the nails it once held. There are nails everywhere! And I’m not talking your little house hold nails that you use to hang that “artsy” photo you picked up at hobby lobby. I’m talking big ass farm nails. Nails used to hold fences together. Nails you drive through steel when your fixing the feed trough. I was scared out of my wits! So finally I am able to squeeze through the window out the back of the cab into the truck bed and out onto the dirt. Keep in mind I am fourteen years old wearing black jeans, a black long-sleeve shirt with pearl snaps and of course my cowboy boots. Now as a fourteen year old I have seen my fair share of car chases in the movies. When a car flips over it explodes. That’s just the way it is. So as far as I’m concerned at the given moment I have just barely escaped with my life!
I’m about a half a mile away from the house, so I’m not worried that Ralph saw. But I’ll tell you what. That was THE longest walk of my life. So the whole way back I’m thinking to myself what am I going to say? What will he do? Maybe he will castrate me like we do the bulls. Oh god this is going to be terrible. “God if you let me live through this I will never ever…”followed by tons of empty promises. So after my own Green Mile Walk I am nearing the house. Oh god he’s already outside. Why, why does he have to be outside!? So I get closer he’s leaning on the fence chatting with one of his buddies about who knows what probably where to move the cattle or what truck he’s gotta fix next. Who knows. So I muster up the courage, walk right up to him, and blurt out “I flipped the truck in the pasture.” He looks at me…Looks out to the pasture… Looks back down on me and says “Well we better get the tractor and flip her back over.” I can’t believe my ears. What has just happened there is no way there are no repercussions from this. I don’t have to go find my own switch for you to spank me with? My mother has told me stories. This can’t be happening. So we saunter over to shed, find ourselves a heavy duty chain, fire up the tractor and head out to the pasture. Me perched on the over sized wheel well of the tractor dreading what’s to come, him driving down the gravel road as comfortable as if he were in a rocking chair on a Sunday morning.
Ralph hooks up the chain to the truck then the other end to the front loader on the tractor. He flips it back over then turns to me, “Welp, get in there and start her back up.” I look at him like he is crazy. “Are you kidding me?! That truck is going to explode.” He was adamant that I must get in the cab and start it. However I think he quickly realized that I to was adamant about not getting anywhere near that truck. I was terrified. He understood. He strolled over to the truck, tried starting it a few times, then showed me the battery cable was disconnected. We reconnected it. He tried again. Nope the engine was flooded (or something to that effect) we waited. Finally the truck started again. He was patient as he told me I would need to drive the truck back to the house. After some careful thought and seeing him (as far as I was concerned) risk his own life starting the engine. I decided I would most likely survive a short drive to the house. We got back to the house. Not much was said about me flipping the truck. We had a few laughs about it but nothing more. He knew it was just a farm truck and I think he was happier that nothing had happened to me.
I’ve thought about this experience quite a few times over my life. There are a few lessons I pull from it. Using compassion allows for healing where as reprimanding tends to cause people to shut down. Had my granddad not had any compassion I quite possibly could have never gone back to the farm on my own. I would have been scared to death of him. However he took pity on me, realized I was a young boy and that I didn’t know any better. He didn’t chastise me for the mistake and then send me inside. He helped me work through it. He taught me that even if you make a mess you still need to clean it up. He welcomed me back with open arms and then showed me how to take care of the problem. Sure I was a little terrified of going fast in the fields after that but with good reason. Ralph taught me too have compassion for others. To listen and help solve the problem instead of telling others what they have done wrong. He showed me how to immediately forgive someone and how to find a solution. Had my grand dad Ralph not helped me that day. I would not have this story to tell. I would not have this fond memory of him. Now as I look back, I am able to recall a time when my granddad loved me and taught me to be a man.

6 Things To Remember When You Go Holiday Shopping

1. Unless the cashier/sales person has done something to personally offend you, FIND A MANAGER. Retail workers do NOT get paid enough to deal with your complaining bullshit.

2. If you’re one of those people who don’t trust plastic and prefer to write check, BRING CASH. The lines are going to be long enough already so please be considerate of the other shoppers. No one wants to stand behind you and watch you write a check when we all know that a debit card is the same thing.

3. If you feel the need to return something on Black Friday or Super Saturday, lie down until that feeling passes. Now I know that sometimes it’s unavoidable (i.e. you can’t get the same sale price unless you get that new size/color on the same day, it’s a time sensitive gift) but if you have absolutely no choice, at least remember these rules:

• Have your receipt readily available.

• If the same person who does returns is also the cashier, don’t walk up to them expecting immediate attention. Get in line with everyone else.

• If you don’t have your receipt, that’s your own fault. You can either get store credit or do an exchange. You can NOT get angry with the associate. They are just following the rules.

4. ALWAYS pay attention to signage. I understand that unless you’ve worked retail, you don’t understand how to properly read SKUs or how some things are abbreviated BUT, you can at least attempt to double check the price yourself before you stop everything at the register for a price check. The holidays make all stores crazy messy. This brings me to my next point….

5. PUT THINGS BACK WHERE YOU GOT THEM! This should be a no brainer. I mean, it’s what we learned how to do in pre-school. Unfortunately though, Christmas shopping makes everyone forget their manners and they leave things in all sorts of places.

6. Be kind to others. People are quick to lose sight of what this time of year is really about. Before you push someone to grab the last copy of Frozen ask yourself, “Is it really worth it?” Whatever it is you feel the need to be aggressive towards others for, I PROMISE you will find another one before December 25^th. There are always sales throughout the season so it’s worth a few extra bucks if you get to also keep your dignity.

How I Fell In Friend-Love With My Person

It was my boss’s birthday party, and the bar was dark and crowded. I was nervously picking at my co-worker’s plate of cheese and olives, and trying to make conversation. It was one of my very first opportunities getting to know them outside the office, and I was excited to socialize with them and their friends as we toasted to the big man’s good health and chattered amongst ourselves in the back room of the delightfully dingy, candlelit Berlin bar.

She sat at the opposite end of the table. Tall, blonde, and strikingly beautiful. Her bone structure was killing me, and though I try to keep such thoughts out of my head, I instantly conceded to my high school-ish insecurities, figuring that a woman that winsome would be flighty or mean. I’d had bad experiences with the pretty ones. So when my other boss, who sat beside her, introduced us, and announced that she would be attending the letter writing workshop I was hosting in a few days, I was tickled, nervous, excited, all at once. I sheepishly smiled and quickly ducked off to the restroom.

Only one other person signed up for my workshop, and I’ll admit I was a pinch nervous, as it was my first time instructing a group, however small. I wrote down a little speech to give about the lost art of letter writing, why it was so important to me, and why it deserved a sacred place in modern society. I even included some quotes by mostly famous dead people about the romance and beauty of hand penned correspondence.
Natalie — that was her name — smiled and listened, and took photos of me while I talked. She didn’t laugh. She wasn’t laughing at me. This was not what I expected. I didn’t mean to expect anything, but old habits die hard, and I was used to being met with sharp laughter and some cloying statement like, “Oh, how cute. You’re so into this, aren’t you?” In fact, we drank wine and crafted the night away, talking about a shared love of writing, travel, adventure, the joy of life itself, and what had led us to Berlin. I biked home in a buzzed state of girl crushing contentment, grinning and rosy cheeked the whole way.

There was an initial testing period that consisted of Natalie sending me links to artists and playlists I might like, and we retweeted, favorited, liked, tagged, and “Oh, girl! Me too!”-ed each other until it was clear this friendship was on like Donkey Kong.

But it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment our friendship became “official.” There isn’t usually that one moment in time that a lightbulb or heart appears over a person’s head and they realize, “I love this person! I’m her Harry, she’s my Sally. That person is my person!”

Was it on Halloween, when instead of getting mad at me for having one too many at her private company party and hunkering down over a toilet at the karaoke bar until she had to carry the half dressed sun goddess out to a cab (which I proceeded to get us kicked out of), she brought me back to her flat, fed me bread, Tylenol, and water, and let me share her bed and wear her fluffy slippers?
Or was it when we went on our first trip together, sharing our mutually incurable wanderlust and melancholic vibes, poring over books and sitting together in silence, each penning equally deep thoughts in our journals, taking breaks to sullenly stare out the window as the Danish countryside stretched out before our eyes?
Was it the first time we argued? Me, upset and internalizing some random comment that she made (honestly, not even about me, and made after a day of traipsing all over town and not getting enough time alone), and refusing to talk about it, sulking and feeling miserable for over a week? Because when someone matters to you that much, you can’t go to sleep angry, or sad, or mad. You’ll be haunted until you patch things up. That’s how love works. That’s friendship.

I can’t say when it happened, but she became my person, and even better, I became hers. And it’s been a lot of work, it hasn’t been easy. We live in different cities and time zones now. She has a terrific job that makes her happy, and I’m scrounging around doing odd jobs to support my writing.

She’s a little more April Ludgate, I’m a lot more Leslie Knope. She reaches the top shelf for me, and I run to save us prime seats on the bus or train, so she can amble along at her own pace to meet me. She takes my picture, and I dance whimsically as she captures me the way she sees me. When I stayed with her parents and her mom discovered I was nearly five years younger than Natalie, she asked me, puzzled, “What on Earth are you two doing together? What an unlikely pair.”

But when I think about how much I love her sometimes, my heart swells to twice its usual size, a lump emerges in my throat, my nostrils flare, and my eyes tear up. It’s not easy to explain, but that’s how I know someone belongs in my chaotic journey of a life.
In my life, people don’t usually stick. They are a revolving door of sparkly new characters. And at first, I was genuinely skeptical of her. She was my “type”— a strong, independent, leading woman character. Combined with my forces, sometimes a combustible pairing. Would she try to manipulate me? I’d been hurt by pretty puppeteers before, so these fears weren’t coming from out of left field.
But she didn’t give up on pursuing our friendship when I was wary, and where she too had walls, I didn’t relent in loving her and tearing them down. It was the first time I hadn’t thrown in the towel and instead decided to stick it out, because it was worth it. She’s worth it. 100 percent. Every time.
So whether we lay in darkness and silence listening to Nick Drake records and feeling morose because we’ve death and despair on the brain, or whether we ride trains and drink cheap beer in parks, laughing and looking down the bottle to make ships and shapes out of tumultuous waves of ale, the time is well spent.
And I thank my lucky little stars I have her, because I waited a long time for her. Most little girls go to sleep at night thinking about their future husband—please be handsome, please be kind, be strong, be rich. But I thought, God, please give me just a friend who is kooky and weird like me, someone I can talk to and share clothes with and giggle about boys with.
I began to lose hope because we always moved and changed schools, and they never wrote back. My forget me not anthem became so tired and desperate, I almost believed myself invisible, capable of mysticism beyond my reach. I learned the art of letting go, and letting go again. And to open up quickly like a flower, and just as quickly wilt and fade away, because nothing is permanent.
But it all led me to the nomad.

Do It Girl, Make The Move!

I cannot tell you how many times in high school there were boys that I liked, who I later came to find out, liked me back with equal force, but quite unequal gumption. See, I have oft leaned to the dark side, the nerd side, if you will, and these boys, though handsome, cultured, and highly intelligent, are not always quick on the romantic uptake. I have never been a shy one, but all signs pointed to, “don’t ask boys out or ever show that you are interested ever, or you are an eager whore and you will surely die,” so I pined and pined and waited for somebody to make a move, but nobody ever did, because–shy boys. In hindsight, I see that initiating a cute, albeit awkward, sweaty handhold in the woods during cross country practice, or a flirty Chemistry homework date could have easily set me on the fast track to nerd dating heaven, but I stubbornly insisted that I wait until notified that my affections were warranted. Because only boys can show interest or make the first move.

I cannot air my grievances loudly enough on this issue. It has been years since I first gained access into the world of sweaty palmed hand holding, and yet I am just now breaking free from my unnatural cocoon and realizing for myself that not only is it okay for a woman to express interest, initiate first contact, or otherwise move things along, it’s good, and I highly recommend it. I’m not advocating that we all become douchey fedora wearing pickup artists with lady parts. I’m simply saying that some of these gender roles are stodgy and outdated.

There is zero percent nothing wrong or bad about meeting someone you feel the good vibes with and saying something natural and non creepy along the lines of like, I don’t know, maybe–“Here’s my number in case you need some more help with your Chemistry homework WINK WINK,” or, “Hey, so what is your number? I”m gonna need to call you sometime.” I don’t know. Whatever it is that smooth kids say these days. All I can pull from is my own experience, and in the past year, I’ve finally made some strides for womankind in this realm.

I not so un-creepily scribbled a note on the back of a postcard of two men rollerblading saying that I loved adventures, and “hey, would you want to go on an adventure with me sometime? You know, call me if you’d be into that,” and shoved it in my favorite barista’s face as I turned beet red and rushed out the door of my neighborhood coffee shop earlier this year. I’d like to think that perhaps he never called because he was actually kissing some other girl in the cafe earlier that day, and I think she was his girlfriend, and also because I was living in Germany, and German guys are an entirely different beast than their American counterparts, so perhaps my proposition was highly inappropriate and alarming. Who’s to say? Only George I suppose.
But the point is, I did it. I faced my fears. After months of fawning over his golden sideswept hair and winning smile as I sipped on my lattes and pretended to work on my “writing,” I worked up the courage to DO SOMETHING about my swoon feelings. And this translated to doing it again when I met someone I liked at a party and found him part of my semi-regular social group. I liked our talks and wanted more of them, so I asked for what I wanted. And guess what? He accepted. I don’t really think it would qualify as a date, but slow down, sugar. I wasn’t trying to get anything from him. I just wanted to talk. Which is the whole point of asking someone out in the first place. To get to know them better. To learn about them and decide if their world views and life goals make you still want to smoosh your face up against theirs.

Most recently, I really hit it off with someone I’d just met– a complete stranger who I bonded with over some pretty crazy coincidences about our upbringings, and some pretty epic LARPing we happened to witness at the same time on the giant group bike ride we were on. I think it was already pretty obvious that stars were dancing in my eyes, but in this new version of myself, I don’t feel the need to hide what I’m feeling just to appear cool or aloof. Screw that. I was into him, so I asked for his number. And nothing has come of that. Nothing has come of any of these situations, to be honest.

But I don’t care.
The important thing, the really amazing thing is what it’s done for my self confidence. I have left behind the idea that I’m not validated until some dude comes along and asks for my hand in a game of checkers. It does not emasculate him to casually inquire if HE would like to join ME for a game of checkers. How bout them apples?
I’ve also noticed some very powerful things about my new mantra in converse. Because society beat it into my brain all those years that girls do not initiate romance on any level, I found it hard to reject unwanted affections. It led me to clam up and panic when an unwanted suitor looked at me like fresh prey and would not back down. Convinced I’d been unknowingly sending some signals I shouldn’t have been, I was even more determined to shut down any pheromones, hormones, or smoke signals my body was emitting against my will, because despite what Robin Thicke says, sometimes we really don’t want it.
Out of fear, and desire to keep the peace and not hurt anyone’s feelings, I would become paralyzed, much in the same way that some small animals will play dead when a giant ferocious bear looks at them and thinks “DINNER SPECIAL NOM NOM.” Deep seated messed up ideas of what gender roles should be left me crying and feeling oh so alone once I’d wake up from my ill timed paralysis.
Fast forward not too far into the future, and I don’t feel bad about telling some screwball to leave me alone. I actually react like a human being and turn the other cheek to escape unwanted kisses, and I say, “NO.” I say it with force and I say it even when it becomes a deal breaker on a friendship, because I am in control of myself and my body, and I can ask dudes out as well as field and decline the offers that come my way. Long gone are the days when women sat in parlors sipping tea and sewing cross-stitch, waiting for gentlemen callers to come along.
Valentine’s Day could be everyday and that would be okay. Putting yourself out there is so hard, but so worth it, for you, beautiful you. You should ask him out, and shiver not despite the outcome. It is about time we as a society stopped training girls to be passive, silent creatures who have no control over their own destinies.
Do it girl.

The 3 Questions Every Catholic School Girl Is Asked

“Did you have to wear uniforms?”

Yes. And honestly, I miss them every day. Our uniform consisted of a wool-blend plaid skirt, and then various polo, sweaters, and sweatshirts, all of which had the school crest embroidered on it. We couldn’t wear flip-flops “for safety reasons” and any shirt worn under our polo had to be white.

Now, I’m not going to spout the regular, pro-uniform shtick about how the uniform is The Great Equalizer and makes students unaware of socio-economic differences among their peers. I recognize that the girl in my French class had an awesome new J. Crew jacket, and I saw that sophomore that clearly got some designer kicks for Christmas.

But really, the all-girls’ environment had more of an affect on my daily appearance (and how I thought about said appearance) than the actual uniform did. I rarely put on makeup, my hair was constantly in a messy bun (and, most often, was unwashed) and I shaved my legs on a bi-weekly basis, at most. My appearance simply didn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to impress the dude in my Geometry class; I was trying to pass Geometry. I wasn’t worried whether or not my ass was appealing to my boyfriend, I was trying to figure out my next article for the school magazine. I was focused more on my AP English paper and juggling my role as French Club President with my after-school job than I was worried about the state of my wardrobe.

But you know what? Other girls did care about their appearance, and that was okay, too. There were girls that matched their headbands to their accessories, that were hyper-conscious of what coat looked best with their navy sweater, and that was okay, too. They could totally kill it in Biology lab and look awesome at homecoming.

But neither of us were treated better or worse for our peers for it, because, in general, girls cared more about the jokes you made than your physical appearance. And that’s refreshing.

“Were the nuns horrible?”

At my school, there were only a couple nuns, and, honestly, they were fine. The nun that taught Theology in senior year was a really unique person from Boston. She had the accent, the attitude, and an intense appreciate for uniform rules.
But, when I think of my time in high school, I don’t think about the nuns. I think about all the other teachers, and what they taught me (and my peers) about what it meant to be a good person. The highest compliment received was when one teacher came up to me in the hallway, playfully punched me in the shoulder and said, “Remember, you are a decent human being.” He did this all the time. He constantly reminded his students that the best thing you could be is decent. And to be decent, you had to add value to the environment around you. You had to contribute. You had to enhance. You had to give everything you had to give. He constantly challenged students to learn more, to give more and to be more. And he lead by example. When I was in his AP English class, I would see him two to three times for every assignment: twice before the paper was due, and once after I received the grade back. This man would sit with me, going through my work and challenging me in every way possible. He was 100% dedicated to every student who wanted to be there, and who did the work. And he lived for his students.

When I got accepted to my first college choice, he was the person I wanted to tell. I ran into his classroom, and said “Guess what!” He looked up, a huge, knowing smile on his face, and said “You got in, didn’t you?!” He was, if at all possible, even more excited than I was.

And he was just one of the totally dedicated, totally awesome, totally inspiring teachers I had.

“All girls? So was it major drama, all the time?”

For the most part, no. I admit that in any school, there is always going to be some drama, but let’s be real: any time you have 600 people in one building, there is going to be drama. One year, one of my friends received a phone call from two other students; these girls thought it would a good idea to make a list of everything they disliked about my friend, and read it to her. To this day, this is the bitchiest, most horrible thing I can imagine doing to another person. And I hope those two girls are embarrassed that, even as high schoolers, thought that was okay.
But beyond that, the drama was pretty minimal. This was the best aspect of going to an all girls’ school: there really weren’t the typical “popular girls.” Sure, there were girls that fit the mold: they drank on the weekends, hooked up with the boys from the all-boys’ school across town, had big houses, and wore nice clothes. But that didn’t make them popular. That made them a group of friends. They weren’t any more or less than any other group of friends.
The girls that were popular (as in, they had a ton of friends and people actually liked them) were the smart girls. They were the ones in the Advanced Placement classes. The ones that killed it in the school musical. The hilarious girls that gave good speeches and made funny videos for school assemblies. The chick that made her own homecoming dress. They were the girls who wrote editorials in the school paper. These were the girls that you wanted to be friends with, wanted to like you.
And that, to me, is the best part of the all-girls’ experience. That people that worked hard, were passionate about their interests and excelled. They gained genuine popularity by being Bad Ass Chicks.
It’s hard to communicate in a few words what it means to attend an all-girls’ school. In my four years, I learned what it meant to be a human being, that doing what you’re passionate about can make all the difference, and that you are more than your exterior. As I continue to fumble my way in the adult world, I realize more and more that my high school experience set me up with a good idea of what it means to be a successful adult: to find what you’re passionate about, to work hard, and to be a decent human being to other people. That you can be considered worthwhile by your peers, even if your sweater is pilling and your shoes are from three seasons ago. Most of all, the all girls’ environment gave me the confidence I needed to know that I could do whatever I wanted to in life, just so long as I worked for it. That if I was dedicated to something, things would work out. That I could be a total boss, because of (not in spite of) my position as a woman. So when I look at Mercy Academy’s advertising campaign, it reminds me of the best lesson my all-girls’ education gave me: a reminder that I can change the world.

I Miss Passing Notes With You

I miss passing notes with you. I miss sitting down in French class, workbook perched at the end of my desk, pretending to be taking notes. I miss taking a clean sheet of loose-leaf (or, in a pinch, spiral notebook paper with little ripped pieces hanging off the edge) and starting to write. Dear X. Y Happened. I can’t wait until we get to do Z this weekend.

It didn’t matter what the note was about. What were we about, even? We were in high school. Any drama we had was inconsequential. Who didn’t get into AP Bio. Who we wanted to ask to Homecoming. What our moms were making us do this weekend. What we were going to wear to the football game on Friday.

And yet we continued to write them. Nearly every day, like clockwork. The intimate squares of paper that spelled out our lives. The painstakingly written confessions, questions, wonderings, and speculations. The declarations of friendship and loyalty.
I miss the anticipation after you told me you were writing me a super long note, but that it wouldn’t be finished until after AP European History. I miss the feel of a perfectly folded note in my hand. I miss hiding it under my papers during government class, reading it at intervals when I could get away with it. I miss how you would tease me about my handwriting, that I always forgot to cross my Xs and Ts. I miss the plans for that night, this weekend, for when we finally got to college, all contained in those handwritten notes.
I wish I still had them. I wish I hadn’t thrown them out, tossed them away so carelessly as I cleaned out my locker at the end of each semester. I wish I could go back and re-read them. To remember who you were. Who I was. What we worried about. Who we loved. What we hated more than anything. Where we thought we were going: this weekend, this summer, next year.
I wish I could go back to before we stopped writing them. Before all the real drama. Before we stopped talking on a daily basis. Before you stopped talking to me altogether in college. Before we realized we didn’t have anything in common, outside of where we grew up. Before I looked at your Facebook page and realized I didn’t know you any more, that we no longer shared mutual friends. Before I rejected your invitation to get drinks and catch up when I was home for Christmas.
Because the fact is, we don’t know each other any more. We no longer exist outside of those notes. For years, we shared our souls through ballpoint pens, lined paper, and folding patterns intricate enough to be considered origami. But now, we’re barely acquaintances.
I don’t even remember what your handwriting looks like anymore. I saw it every day for nearly four years. But four years later, I haven’t a clue. If you passed me a square of graffitied loose-leaf today, filled with everything you thought, felt, and wanted, I couldn’t identify the hand that wrote it. I wouldn’t be able to place the loopy Ys, the sloppily crossed Ts. I wouldn’t recognize you.
And maybe, you wouldn’t recognize me, too.

Your Wedding Isn’t Your “Day To Be A Princess”

I’ll admit it – I love weddings. I have perused more than one wedding blog. I have a good idea of what kind of wedding dress I would eventually like to wear. I have an opinion on table settings and flowers and outdoor vs. indoor ceremonies. When I was a bridesmaid in both of my sisters’ weddings, I was a willing participant in the planning – I’ve looked at more Save-The-Date magnet mock-ups than I would really like to admit. One day, I hope to plan and throw my own wedding.

Weddings are beautiful. They’re a wonderful celebration of love and friendship and family. They’re also a hell of an excuse to throw a totally baller party. What they aren’t, though, is an excuse to “be a princess for a day.” You know that type of bride – the person who is obsessed with her fantasy, insists every part of her wedding is about her (and only her) and who is willing to do anything to achieve the ~*~vision ~*~ she’s been Pinterest-ing since before she even met her fiancé.

The idea that a woman’s wedding day is only about the bride is ridiculous. If you view your wedding as the one day in your life that you can live out your ultimate fantasy of being the princess that gets her knight in shining armor, the day you get to insist your friends and family bend to your will and go out of their way to satisfy your demands, you’re going to be a nightmare of a bride.
Because your wedding day isn’t your day to be a princess. It’s a day to make a commitment to a person that you are wildly in love with and want to be with for the rest of your life. It’s a day for you and your significant other to proclaim your love for each other. It’s a day for your family and friends to shower you with love and good fortune. It’s a day for everyone to get dressed up, eat good food and get a little tipsy. It’s a day that marks the beginning of your life as a married person. It’s a day with a built-in excuse to spend a lot of money and wear a dress you feel beautiful in and eat cake.
Not only should your husband, family and friends play as big of a role in the day as you do, but you’re also going to have a lot of Big Days in your life. Your wedding is just one of them. Sure, they’re are worth renting a fancy venue, but weddings are not worth terrorizing your guests into adhering to a ridiculous dress code or forcing everyone in your wedding party to perform a choreographed dance just so you can get a YouTube-worthy video out of it.
Weddings are great. Wearing a big white dress is fun. Flowers, music, throwing the bouquet, cutting the cake, having a first dance – they’re all awesome. Your wedding is an opportunity to throw a stellar party and include all the details you dreamed of as a little girl, but it should also be so much more than that. It should be about more than just being a princess. It’s about your commitment to another person and the celebration of your love.

I Am Talking To A Ghost

I still have your note cards laying on my shelf. I dust around them. The trunk of my car still has a whole box full of your things that I haven’t touched since I tried to drag you out of that rented house.

You were so stubborn.

I was wiping down my counters the other day and I noticed this one spot where you had cut into the linoleum one day when I was trying to distract you from your depression with baking. You left 20 minutes later. I didn’t try to stop you. You wanted to be alone.

I didn’t. I still don’t.

I imagine this silent room now filled with your laughter, and I picture how much better it would be.
I would have hugged you more.
I would have understood how hard it was for you. Had I only been in your shoes. Had I have realized your pain. I have yet to throw away that candle you bought me three weeks before. Or that bottle of wine.
I should have hugged you more.
Sometimes I regret everything. Other times I think it wasn’t that bad. It’s undoable. It’s impossible to return to that place. And that’s when the sadness sets in. Knowing nothing will ever be able to change things.
Why does it have to always be so hard without you?
Why didn’t I realize that then. You probably didn’t know this, but I loved you. With all my heart. I was scared to confront you. I was scared to lose you because I was scared you would get mad. That if I said you needed to get control of your depression meds, that you needed to really talk to someone and open up, that you needed to look at the world and say ‘fuck you world you don’t even know the best me yet, just wait, I’ll show you’, but you never did do that.

You gave up. You made everyone else feel the way you did. Hopeless.

All my hope disappeared the moment I last held your hand, cried cheek to cheek with you, kissed your face, hugged you, and told you I would love you yesterday, today and tomorrow. My hope disappeared that morning I woke up knowing you’d never talk to me again. Getting that text saying you had passed away two hours after I finally fell asleep. My best friend had died. I miss you everyday. Every day. No day is any easier.

They all lied. They said the pain would fade. That it would all be alright. They lied.
I still need you and long for your advice and kind words. You were the best friend anyone could ask for. I grew up with you. We taught each other everything, not always good things, but everything. You taught me to let my hair down throw my hands in the air and let my worries go. I have had one hell of a time even attempting that in the past year and a half. I have been cautious. I have been scared. I have been anything but the person you would have thought I would have become.
You used to always say ‘Abby I wish I was as strong as you’ and I used to laugh…I didn’t believe I was strong.
Looking back on it, me now compared to me then, you were right I was strong. I was really strong. I don’t know if that girl died with you or if she just went into hiding but I sure as hell wish you were here to tell me. I do miss you. I hope you know that.

Why Birth Control Is Actually Pro-Life

Birth control, in modern society, is just another thing we take for granted; much like flavored vitamins and an abundances of vaccinations, medical miracles of their time that are now little more than, so we insist, our right. How often do we look back to the birth of contraception? It wasn’t all hunky-dory from day one: it was like abortion, and same sex marriage… “Unnatural!” the religious fanatics might cry, “Expensive!” call the politicians, “Ridiculous!” shout out the fortunate classes who do not necessarily understand these controversial burdens.

Birth control gave power back to the woman. The power to say ‘if a man can take a meaningless lover, why can’t I?’ It gave her the power to choose the order of her life: marriage, career, children. It gave her the power to love others, and herself; fewer offspring gave her the time to appreciate herself as well as her family.

During the early 20th century, the woman was trapped by an endless cycle of reproduction — sad really, that such a monumental act as giving life became so mundane and disdained. This was the time of the female revolution, a wave of feminism that modern medicine facilitated. Although the initial idea came into being centuries ago by founding father, Robert Thomas Malthus, it took its time to take hold.
Birth control gave life to the woman, so she was no longer forced to decide between another child, or celibacy; so she was no longer a prisoner to the unrivaled wonder of childbirth, no longer stuck behind the bars of motherhood.
The average family in Britain today doesn’t even have three children, yet if we go back only two or so generations, it was not unheard of that our grandparents were one of 12. Is it that women have become lazy and greedy? Wanting more career and entertainment, and less maternal responsibility? No. It is a mother taking initiative to give more love and attention, more support and opportunities, to her reasonably-sized, nuclear family. Some women do not want children, but unless they are celibate or homosexual then, without birth control, they would struggle.
Unnatural? Or is this free will handed down from the heavens in the form of a tablet or discreet foil packet? Birth control is control. It allows women to decide ‘When’, ‘Who with?’, ‘How many?’. It allows a man the freedoms to wait, to not have a child until he is ready. (Isn’t that something men often complain about anyway?) However, joking aside, it gives freedom to all people; regardless of sex or class, regardless of age or occupation, regardless of intelligence or race or lifestyle.
Birth control may prevent births, but this does not stop it giving life and strength to the people of today. From a time when it seemed radical and ridiculous, to the era of dating sites and one night stands; birth control was a natural progression necessary for the world to move forwards, to nurture young minds more attentively, and allow ourselves the necessary freedoms. This is how birth control yields life.

The Real Message One Direction Is Sending Out To Young Girls That You Probably Didn’t Think About

I’ve observed my smart, independent friends descend into a dribbling mess of snot and tears while listening to “Little Things.” As I’m sure they are aware, One Direction have phenomenal power over one particularly impressionable demographic- young girls.

It occurred to me to question the message their songs put across to teenage girls at a time when their development of self and sense of self-esteem are still being moulded by what they see and hear around them. I feel particularly strongly about young girls feeling empowered, free and independent- so where do One Direction fit in with this message? Well, their very first ever (inarguably catchy) single, ‘You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful’, is about a male protagonist courting an insecure young girl: ‘You’re insecure // Don’t know what for.’ It exemplifies the logic that a young girl’s beauty lies in the male gaze by which she’s perceived. She’s beautiful, but doesn’t know it- she must be told so by four badly dressed British teenage boys. Her ignorance to her own beauty somewhat adds to her attraction.

The same sentiment is explored in ‘Little Things,’ where an unnamed girlfriend cannot accept her ‘stomach or her thighs’- but despite these perceived ‘flaws’, the boy still loves her. It’s stated that she’ll never love herself ‘half as much’ as ‘he’ does- worrying, female beauty is presented as something for male consumption and something that almost doesn’t exist until perceived by a man. It’s worrying that in two of the band’s most successful and well-received songs, low self-esteem is so romanticised. One Direction to impressionable young girls everywhere: “Your low self-esteem is hot.”

Fast forward a couple of albums, and we reach the slightly less successful ‘Four’ and a disappointing glorification of male ownership in romantic relationships on its pioneering single, ‘Steal My Girl.’ The perceived ‘other’ guy is told to ‘Find another one, ‘cause she belongs to me.’ This idea is both overused and inherently anti-feminist- I think it’s pretty clear that it is the ‘Girl’s’ own call on whom she decides to be with and that, as a woman in a relationship, you are not instantly under the ownership of your other half. Come on, it’s 2015. In an age where many perceive equality to have progressed in great leaps and bounds in recent years, the idea that a girl belongs to a boy drives One Direction’s message in this song to absurdity.

Despite their songs being catchy and their faces being carved by angels themselves, it’s clear that One Direction perhaps need to give a little more consideration to the message they give out through their lyrics, especially when these lyrics are being furiously memorized and ingested by millions of teenage girls all over the world. With such power, One Direction could do incredible powerful things through the message they give to their fans- if they so choose to.

The Two Kinds Of Life We All Live For

We’ve read too many things telling us how to live our lives, who to listen to, and what matters most. It doesn’t take an epiphany, or a couple of decades (though that may help) to realize the things that have dawned on everyone who has come and gone actually make sense.

There are two kinds of life.

The first kind is our daily life. We wake up, bathe, make our coffee, eat breakfast, drive, roll down the window, light that first cigarette, and head on to face the inevitable of everyday: the art of constant irregularities we all seem to have mastered. That car you cut off yesterday is probably not the same car you just cut off a while ago. Constantly, cutting people off may be your thing, but who you affect around you will not seem to ever be the same unit. This rolls on to your office, your clients, your break times, and everything else.

The people in your life, the things you love doing, your dog, your favorite pen and planner, and everything else are all a part of your first kind of life. Your dreams, your aspirations, your obligations as a sister, a daughter, a mother, a partner, a wife… They’re all in this side of that undefined venn diagram.
Who you are and were are all within this border.
The second kind of life is the life we didn’t consciously know existed. It’s the life that takes over us when we first experience the adrenaline rush of surfing, the unexplainable joy of driving 180 kilometers per hour, the pride that seeps in when we win, the exhilarating fulfillment of accomplishment, the inextinguishable fire of the first kiss. This kind of life is like the previous one on steroids. In this life, we’re indispensable, invincible, everlasting and ablaze. This is the life everyone wants to chase, get hooked on, and be lulled in.
After all, living is incomplete without both lives.
This second kind of life however, is the same kind of life that we lose in despair when we’re lost, left, and unsure. Unfortunately so, the source of the moments for the second kind of life is as rare as it being genuine. There are no halves, no sort-ofs, no maybes. It’s either perfect or unreal.
“You should see how she is… It’s as if life has been suck out of her.”
After all, living is incomplete without both lives.
This is the reason why everyone says the same thing when we lose something vital for our souls…
The loss of the second kind is the reason why we all will never be the same again.

5 Reasons Why Sleeping With A Close Friend Is A Bad Idea

I know, this should be obvious just from reading the title. We all make mistakes in the bedroom, but this is one that happens far too frequently, often with disastrous consequences. One day you’re happily talking with a “buddy” about plans for the summer or your fall class schedule, and the next you are drunkenly and awkwardly fumbling with said buddy in his or her room, completely throwing away the free and easy relationship you once had.

After waking up in his bed (or yours, depending on how much the two of you need your space), the awkwardness starts to set in. Awkwardness tinged with sorrow. Not sadness; sadness is temporary. The sorrow you feel never goes away completely. And here’s why:

1. Your friendship as you knew it is over.

Sure, you can pull off the “Oh, it was just for fun, it didn’t mean anything” card pretty well (and I have done it quite successfully); but the fact is, it DID mean something. There’s a reason so many successful couples say “I married my best friend.” They say it because no one will ever understand you like your close friends will, no one will ever get the way you tick as well as your close friends, and no significant other can read your mind as well as a friend. Now, after doing the dirty deed, you will have to face the fact that there are only two choices for you now: You can either try to be with your friend, or you can draw away, slowly but surely, until they forget who you are. Either way, it’s a tough choice, and someone will always leave the situation hurt, I promise.

2. You will be filled with self-doubt.

Unless you’re a complete psychopath, you will be filled with remorse for what you did. It’s very difficult to see yourself as being capable of being a good friend one minute and a sex-crazed monster the next. You’ll find yourself wondering, how on Earth did I do this? Am I a horrible friend? Was I EVER really his (or her) friend? You’ll catch yourself wondering if your friend liked your body, or if maybe laughing during the sex you had was a bad idea (it isn’t). You’ll find yourself looking in the mirror with tears in your eyes, hating what you see because of what you did, but knowing that your friend didn’t hate what he or she saw. You’ll find yourself reevaluating your entire life and your choices, even though when you look at the situation scientifically, it was really just harmless sex. Your heart will tell you otherwise.

3. Your friends who know will hate you.

Not all of them. There will be a friend or two who will laugh at the situation, shake their head at you, and either congratulate you or change the subject. Unfortunately, those people are rare (and you should try your best to have friends like these; they never grow old). The majority of your friends will treat you with contempt and disgust, for the very same reasons that you were filled with self-doubt. You may be called a slut or whore, you’ll be un-invited from events, and generally be treated as a leper. People will keep a healthy distance from you, and perhaps even throw some grudging respect in your direction. After all, you WERE the one who did what no one else in their right mind would do. When this happens, you will know who your real friends are; they are the ones who will stick by you, even though you made a horrible mistake. Also know that now may be a good time to start looking for different friends.

4. You will approach all friendships far too cautiously.

Now that you’ve gained a reputation (completely a figment of your imagination, but that’s part of the pain in this situation), you will take your time making new friends. No one wants to be that guy who sleeps with all of his friends. There are people out there who can pull this off, but it is always at the expense of someone’s feelings. Don’t be that person. You will appear distant and cold to many, and so potential friendships may be nipped early in the bud. You must realize when you see this happening that you made a mistake ONCE. One mistake does not mean that the rest of your life must be ruined. Start new friendships; reach out to that person with whom you’ve had casual (friendly) contact; focus on your job or school. Most of all, meet new people and broaden your horizons. Don’t let one night of mistakes dictate your perception of the world.

5. You can never look that friend in the face again.

Sure, you can hang out from time to time, even do the things you used to do together (the friendly things, mind you). But the easygoing “friend” status is now gone. Every time you look at him, you being to blush. You lower your eyes, and find yourself mumbling about something utterly foolish and incomprehensible. It’s easy, when things start to get uncomfortable, to find your solace in unhealthy things whenever you must be in his or her company: alcohol to “take the edge off,” drugs, or a combination of the two. When you start to feel as if you can’t take it anymore, just remember that your friend is going through the exact same feelings that you are. All the doubt, mistrust, and self-hate that you are enduring, he is too. The guilt you’ve been harboring has been his bedfellow all these nights as well. Just keep this in mind when the going gets rough. You’re not in this alone.

5 Tips On How To Get Over The Unnecessary Jealousy In Your Relationship

Why do we get jealous?

We see our partner across the room, having fun with someone else doing the things we would otherwise want them to do and instead of being happy for them, we get bitter and ruin the mood by our jealousy. Especially so if the person whose company our partner seems to be enjoying that much is female.

Is it because we don’t trust our partner? Is it because we don’t trust that woman?

While the answer to either or both of those questions might sometimes be a yes, more often than not it is a no. Why would we be with someone whom we don’t trust anyway, and why would we suspect the motives of a woman who might genuinely have no questionable motives and who we, under different circumstances might actually like?
Which brings me to another question that I will leave for you to answer; is jealousy the product of a false sense of entitlement?
More often than not, jealousy doesn’t have quite as much to do with your partner as much as it has to do with you. If you have tendencies to be not just jealous, but also defensive, take a deep breath and hear me out before you close this tab proclaiming this to be utter nonsense.
I’m no psychologist or behavioral analyst, but from personal experience and from observing other people in relationships, I have concluded that the main reason for jealousy is a feeling of inferiority or inadequacy, or even the consequence of putting your partner up on a pedestal.

You see your partner as a ‘God-like’ being who is the epitome of perfection; either because they were there for you through something that bonded you very closely to them (now making you the one with more to lose if they don’t feel as attached to you as you to them) or because they possess qualities that  you respect but have never been able to cultivate. Or you might even believe that their physical appearance wouldn’t normally land them with ‘a person like you’.

If you notice, even this tendency stems out of a feeling of inferiority, which is never a healthy base for any relationship. Seeing yourself as lesser and placing your partners needs above yours can never make for a fully functional, satisfying relationship, as jealousy is inevitable when you believe that your partner can
a) Do so much better than you
b) Get anyone he wants
because you see him as perfect and don’t understand why someone else wouldn’t.
In a situation where your issues aren’t being manifested through a tendency of putting your partner on a pedestal, insecurity directly manifests itself in a show of ‘over-attachment’, which is colloquial for clinginess or neediness.
You get clingy or needy because you believe that another person has a chance with your partner, because you see the other person as being better than yourself. In this case your jealousy finds socially acceptable reasons to be publicly (or even privately) manifested and more often than not, we believe those reasons to soothe our pride, which would otherwise be battered.

Unlike most issues couples have, jealousy, which if goes unchecked or becomes a chronic tendency, has the ability to wreck a relationship which otherwise would have had the potential to grow stronger and be successful.

Now that you know this, you might want to make certain changes to your method of coping with a sudden surge of emotions that you usually feel when you know you’re getting jealous; and like most issues the ‘green eyed monster’ can be overcome if you try hard enough.

1. For starters, you’ve got to understand your style of attachment with your parents or primary caregiver. Was it secure? Anxious? Avoidant? Once you’ve got that figured out you’ll know which areas you can work on and make a conscious effort to avoid falling into past patterns. It might be hard initially because it is after all an attempt to change your lifestyle, but it isn’t impossible.
2. The second thing you can do is figure out if the reason you’re getting jealous is because this situation reminds you of a situation from past experience which didn’t turn out well. If yes, then is the person you’re with reminiscent of the person you were in that situation with? If not, there’s nothing to worry about and you’re on your guard only because of a whiff of ghosts from your past. If this person is reminiscent of that person, though, rethink why you are together if they possess the same undesirable tendencies of your previous partner.
3. Once you’re certain that the reason for your jealousy has no concrete root in the outside world, look within and work on yourself. Do you think lesser of yourself? Do you underestimate your abilities? Do you mask your sense of inferiority under thundering claims of superiority over the rest of the population? If any of this is true, work on the area you believe you need to develop. Whether it’s your physical appearance, the way you speak, the amount you read, general awareness, sociability, whatever it might be. If you try to get better at something, you can, and nobody should be allowed to tell you otherwise.
4. If you believe that you need to meet people to feel more confident about yourself, go out and find something you love doing. Don’t just pretend to be doing something you love to prove a point to someone or show someone down, do what genuinely makes you happy. When you’re busy with your own life, you will have less time to overthink and hence even lesser time to burn in jealousy everytime someone likes his or her profile picture.
5. Trust your partner. They aren’t always seeking someone else or looking for an opportunity to cheat. If they’re with you, its because they appreciate you and when you understand that, you won’t find the need to be jealous even if he interacts with pretty, accomplished women all day long. Stop comparing, because you aren’t competing with anyone else for his affections.
Everything starts from within and starts with an initiative; If you must cut off toxicity from your life in the form of people, social media, apps, et al, do it without thinking twice.
When you’re less burdened by jealousy, not just your relationship, but even your life will begin to make you truly happy because you then will not be limiting either your partner or yourself from reaching your true potential.