Posts tagged 2015
don't rush through your life

If you're anything like me and the vast majority of Americans, you're a fairly busy person.

When I moved back to Northern Virginia in April, I started a temp job to hold me over while I looked for a full-time position that would mesh well with this current season of my life. That temp job put me in a high-rise office building on the corner of a busy street in the middle of downtown Washington D.C. I took the metro to and from work every day, squeezing in tight and getting nice and cozy with my fellow commuters.

After a few days of what would become my daily commuter for over three months, I noticed something — everybody was rushing.

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on quick fixes and extraordinary living

If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone say, "You should do the Race!" during the time I worked at Adventures, I'd have, well, a lot of money.

Each time, I laughed, smiled, and effectively said, "Thanks, but no thanks."

When I was hired, my supervisor told me the fact that I didn't do the Race was an asset. I was able to bring a different, broader perspective to the goals and vision for social media and copywriting for Adventures and the Race because, rather than only seeing what my personal experience had been, I was able to see all the kinds of things it could be for different people.

But for the number of times I was asked that question, it didn't seem like me not going on the Race was much of an asset.

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the legacy of my great uncle clifford

Two weeks ago, sometime in the night, my Great Uncle Clifford died.

He went from this world into the next peacefully, in his sleep, as I think many people would wish to go. He finished his life how he lived — quietly, without much fanfare or to do.

He had pancreatic cancer and it moved much quicker than doctors had anticipated. Just a few days after I'd sat on my baby sister's bed with tears in my eyes while my mom told me he had cancer and was given 6-8 months to live, I got a call that he was in hospice. Three days after that, we were on our way up to Michigan to say what we knew would almost definitely be goodbye. A week and a half later, he slipped from this world to the next.

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on learning how to breathe

I am, by nature, an anxious person.

It shows up quietly and I don't even notice. The tension and the stress start to rise, and before I know it, the anxiety asserts itself.

I notice it in my breath.

An extra yawn or two. The yawn that doesn't catch. The deep breath that is never deep enough. The tightness in my chest. The knowledge that if I don't stop, if I don't slow, if I don't focus on the how of breathing, I will lose. The faster I work and the more I try to breathe in deeply, the harder it becomes.

You see, a deep breathe requires slowness.

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on writing, words, and why

When I was 10-years-old, my mother handed me a composition notebook. On the cover, she’d written the word “journal” and the starting date — March 9, 1999.

I’ve always had a lot of words. I was speaking in full sentences at 18-months-old, beginning the perpetual cycle of exhausting my family and friends with what, I’m sure to them, seems like a never ending supply of words. In the years since my mother handed me that composition notebook, I’ve filled the pages of 24 other journals with stories, thoughts, dreams, prayers, and who knows what else.

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on racism and white privilege

"What can I, as a white person...I, how can I help it and not make it worse?" I asked, stumbling over my words, that first Sunday after church.

We talked and my anger swelled at the silence of our leaders and tears welled up in my eyes. 

She hugged me. Wrapped me tight in her strong, dark, beautiful arms as tears slipped down my cheeks. 

"I'm so glad you're my friend," I whispered into her shoulder. 

"Me too," she whispered back. 

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