im ok w spending $40 on food but wont buy a $40 shirt
Sometimes when I’m discouraged about where I’m at and ungrateful for what I have, I wonder what my twelve-year-old self would say. I realize she’d think my life turned out really sweet. She’d be excited that I can eat ice cream whenever I want and have a movie marathon after midnight. She’d love that I can get on an airplane by myself. She’d be thrilled that I have my own car. She’d be proud that I’m not afraid of the dark and surprised that I’m not so shy. She’d be impressed by other things that I view as mediocre now. It may sound completely silly, but when I look at my life through the lens of my twelve-year-old self it looks pretty darn spectacular. How easily we cease to be impressed. I don’t want to lose that childlike wonder and magic. What would your twelve-year-old self say about you and your life now?
Love isn’t a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now.
You're so fucking full of yourself
I’m okay with that.
I feel that is better than being full of other people.
My theme song for the week
Whenever your faith in people is lost, remember these pictures.
This needs more notes. 37k is not enough
this is a post that deserves to be broken. One day I would like nothing more than too see this has too many notes.
People are still good. For some reason the negativity is all we pay attention to, but there are still good things happening in the world. We just need to be reminded of that once in a while.
I’ve been thinking about something lately.
You’re on an airplane, sleeping with your head against the window, your heart set on being home this time three hours from now. All of a sudden, something goes very wrong. The plane stops moving across the air and instead starts falling through it. The lights are flickering and the movie is skipping. The plane dips hundreds of feet in seconds, and the yellow cups fall from the ceiling. They’re a brighter shade of yellow than you remember, because unlike the demonstration, these cups have never been handled before. “Flight attendants take your seats now”, you hear, the pilot’s voice trembling over a cacophony of alert tones. You get that smell in the bridge of your nose like you’ve just been hit with a football. That’s what the fear smells like. The plane is going down.
Four more drastic drops in under a minute. People are crying. For all the folklore about how your life flashes before your eyes, you’re remarkably fixed on one vision – your parents. They’re sleeping at this very moment, in a bedroom so quiet they can hear the clock in the kitchen. And you can see them, clear as can be. You wish you could see a playground or a first kiss, but all you can see is your parents sleeping. Huh. Well, that’s that.
Several long minutes go by. Then, all at once, the lights come back on and the plane somehow rights itself. Some people cheer, but most people cry harder. The plane lands about an hour later, and as soon as you feel that touch down – hell, even when you were within 50 feet of the ground and could still technically survive a fall – you realize that however you brokered the deal between you and God worked; you’ve just been granted life in overtime.
Here’s the question: what do you change? Whom do you call that you haven’t spoken to in years? Whom do you realize has been toxic to your heart and drop with surprising ease? What trips do you cancel, and what trips do you book? What can’t you be bothered with anymore? What’s the new you like?
Think about that, and then ask one more question. Why not just change it all right now?
I need to be alone for certain periods of time or I violate my own rhythm.
When you’re young, thunderstorms seem scary. Like the sky is angry at you. But now that I’m older, something about its roar soothes me; it’s comforting to know that even nature needs to scream sometimes.